


And the Walls Come A-Tumblin' Down

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: The Stanford Adventure Club [9]
Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Cross-Posted on LiveJournal, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: November 2, 2005: John Winchester is missing, and Jess Moore has a date with Sam Winchester's ceiling.  Everything's going according to plan... but Hell's been planning without the Stanford Adventure Club.
Relationships: Agatha Heterodyne/Gilgamesh "Gil" Wulfenbach, Dean Winchester/Zeetha Daughter of Chump, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Tarvek Sturmvoraus/Colette Voltaire, Theopholous "Theo" DuMedd/Sleipnir O'Hara
Series: The Stanford Adventure Club [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023742
Kudos: 2





	1. THEN: The Golden Siren

_December 2002  
Palo Alto, California_

Tyson Brady was incredibly stressed over finals. He was so stressed, in fact, that a guy colliding with him briefly on campus didn’t register for more than the time it took for him to regain his balance; the guy’s “Sorry, dude!” didn’t register at all, and Brady never connected the incident with the mysterious small cut on his wrist that he noticed once and promptly forgot about. Socializing was right out, and the only thing he drank for days was coffee because he’d read that caffeine aids short-term memory.

“Dude, _chill_ ,” Luis advised. “You know this stuff forward and backward. You’ve been studying all quarter. You’re gonna give yourself ulcers if you keep this up.”

“You don’t understand,” Brady groaned. “This is the weed-out quarter for pre-med. If I don’t make As in _all_ of these classes, I can kiss med school, my scholarship, and my future goodbye.”

Sam Winchester huffed. “And if you have a heart attack from all the coffee you’re drinking, you can kiss your future goodbye anyway.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re pre-law. And your parents haven’t been telling everyone what a great doctor you’ll make since you were two.”

Sam winced. “My dad had some pretty insane expectations himself. But he’s also the reason I know what obsession looks like and what it can do to people. I’m giving it to you straight, man. You’ve got to relax sometime.”

Brady shook his head. “After finals. We can go do something fun after finals.”

“Not _we_ , dude. Soon as I’m done on Wednesday, I’m meeting Gil and Agatha for lunch, and then we’re flying Gil’s new plane to Beetleburg. The Clays haven’t met Zeetha yet, so we’re all meeting up at their house for Christmas. Ardsley might be coming, too; I haven’t heard.”

Luis made some sort of disparaging remark about the British, to which Sam objected, but Brady tuned them both out to keep studying his Organic Chemistry notes.

In fact, the haze of sleep deprivation, information overload, and blind panic didn’t lift until Wednesday afternoon, by which point Sam and the Wulfenbachs were already gone and Luis had plans to go clubbing with some friends of his from Latin American Studies. Brady nearly fell asleep in his lunch at the dining hall, but he decided to stop long enough to check his mail before going back to the dorm and sleeping as long as he possibly could.

There wasn’t much in his mailbox, mostly junk mail. He nearly threw all of it away, but one glossy postcard flyer stuck to his fingers:

_**ONE NIGHT ONLY!** _

_Direct from the Moulin Rouge  
The European Enchantress – The Toast of Paris_

_**LA SIRENE D’OREE** _

_She sings – she dances – she does it all!_

_**Don’t miss this fabulous French sensation!** _

He flipped the card over to find that the venue was a “gentlemen’s club” in Oakland and that the only shows were that very night at 8 and 11.

Brady was normally very straight-laced. He’d always been active in his parents’ super-strict Reformed church; he was planning to become a medical missionary. Once in a great while he’d go with the guys for a few drinks, but he’d always left the room whenever someone suggested watching porn and never even considered going to a strip club. But the longer he stared at this flyer, the more intrigued by it he was. He _had_ been under an awful lot of tension lately, and he was still smarting somewhat over his girlfriend having broken up with him two days after coming back from summer break. And though he tried to come up with reasons he shouldn’t choose this particular mode of relaxation, every one of them sounded like the harsh voice of his parents’ red-faced, pulpit-pounding, blood-and-thunder pastor, whose usual theme was that only those whose lives were perfect would enter the Kingdom of God.

 _But isn’t God loving and forgiving?_ a little voice in the back of his mind asked. _Surely he’ll forgive you if you sin just a little, just this once. He knows you love him._

Brady frowned a little. He’d never thought of God that way before; all he’d ever heard were rules for staying away from sin and out of Hell. In fact... he wasn’t so sure he _did_ love God. If serving God meant working himself into an early grave, was it worth it? But on the other hand, if the little voice was right, would God really send him to Hell for one night of relaxation?

He bit his lip. His RUF leader was already gone for Christmas; so were most of the students from the other campus fellowship groups he attended. And the club was in Oakland. Maybe... maybe he could get away with it, just for one night. If he went to the late show, he could get over there without much risk of running into anyone from church outside or on the way. He could just watch, not have more than one or two drinks, try to keep clinical detachment—after all, if he went into surgery, wasn’t he likely to see at least parts of women’s bodies on the operating table? This might actually be good practice!

So decided, he stuffed his mail into his backpack, went back to the dorm, and set an alarm so his nap wouldn’t keep him from making the 11:00 show.

His palms were sweating when he finally arrived at the club that night, despite the definite chill in the air that gave him an excuse for wearing a scarf pulled up over his nose. Somehow, though, the host at the door seemed to be expecting him. Not only was he ushered inside without having to show his ID or pay a cover charge—which made him realize belatedly that he should have tried to find fake ID to hide the fact that he wasn’t yet 21—but his seat turned out to be the best in the house. The scantily-clad server who took his drink order didn’t ask for his ID, either, and smiled at him so flirtatiously when she delivered the drink that he gulped it down immediately out of embarrassment, without even checking to see if she’d gotten the order right. The drink had a slightly strange aftertaste when the alcohol burn faded, so he decided not to order another. She winked at him and took his glass away, and he tried to settle into his seat and not attract any attention.

Within a matter of minutes, he was feeling much more relaxed and at ease. Within minutes more, he was actually feeling good. _Really_ good.

Too good for just one drink. He started wondering whether there had been something other than just alcohol in his glass.

He didn’t have long to think, however, because the floor show began and captured his full attention with its flashing lights, pounding music, and gyrating dancers. A small part of his mind did wonder whether the floating colors he was seeing were entirely deliberate lighting effects, but the rest of him didn’t really care. The longer he watched, the better he felt, liberated from the cares of the quarter and of his parents’ expectations. If God didn’t like his being here... well, maybe Hell might be worth it. Maybe he’d actually have some fun for a change. Maybe he’d even have a cosmic epiphany sitting right here in this club—this seemed to be the night for it.

Then the lights went out and the MC announced La Sirène D’Orée. A sultry voice singing in what sounded like French to Brady’s untrained ear poured in rainbow tones from the speakers... and Brady was transported to another dimension. Rapturous visions swam before his eyes, offering ease and delight, even before the lights came up again to reveal a golden-haired, pink-clad angel in the middle of the stage. He found himself wishing this sweet dream would never end.

And then she danced. He watched spellbound as she spun from pole to pole, shedding more and more of the clothing that served only to obscure the blazing light emanating from her skin. She was radiant—the queen of the dawn, almost—and he craved even a single glance from her sky-colored eyes.

Finally, about the time his head was spinning as fast as she was, she stopped... came down off the catwalk... walked straight up to him... slid onto his lap... and began to dance again.

He’d never felt such bliss in all his life. Here was his cosmic epiphany, burning golden bright in his very lap, pressing against places that shot rockets of pure pleasure through him, warmer and more real than anything he’d ever felt in his wildest dreams. He longed to hold her close and never let go, but he couldn’t even move his arms. But then, as the song ended, she put a hand behind his head, tipped it forward, and kissed him like he’d never been kissed before.

“Oh, my golden goddess,” he breathed when she ended the kiss, “I am yours forevermore.”

She giggled and ran a finger around the edge of his ear. “Aren’t you going to ask me when I get off?”

“When do you get off?”

“In five minutes. Go outside. Walk around the building to the back entrance. Wait for me there.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She caressed his cheek and got up, trailing sunlight after her as she went backstage.

His head reeling, he fumbled in his wallet for what he thought he must owe for the drink and the performance and left his cash on the table. Then he stumbled outside as if he’d had way more than one drink. The whole world was flashing neon colors, and he wondered briefly whether he shouldn’t just hail a cab and go home. But no—he couldn’t let anyone on campus see him like this. Plus, he’d promised his goddess he’d wait for her, and her looks and her light had promised him bliss and fulfillment. He couldn’t face the cold darkness of his empty dorm room alone with only the memory of her lips and her nearness to torment him.

So he staggered around the building to the alley and thence to the back entrance, where there wasn’t even a bouncer on duty. A sudden gallant impulse prompted him to station himself there to protect his golden love, and he propped himself against the wall and watched the streetlights swirl and dance like Christmas tree lights.

Before La Sirène D’Orée came out, however, a transformer down the street exploded, and all the lights except the ones floating in front of Brady’s eyes went out. Suddenly the darkness itself became palpable like a sulfurous fog, billowing out of the shadows toward him. He gasped. Maybe... there _had_ been...

something

in

his

d  
r  
i  
n  
k  
.  
.  
.


	2. NOW Chapter 1: The Road to Jericho

_October 29, 2005  
New Orleans, Louisiana_

The voodoo priest lurked in the shadows of the alley as the leather-clad, olive-skinned man with moss-hazel eyes and shaggy green hair turned the corner. He had seen this fae thing walking around the Garden District for days, and he could hardly wait to trap it and bend its power to his will. A few more steps brought the creature into his magic circle, and with three short words, he and it were back in his secret lair on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. Quickly he bound it with ropes and uttered his spell.

The fae creature laughed, burst its bonds, and disappeared. And the priest realized he’d just made a terrible mistake.

Before he could summon help, his altar, his bookshelves, and his ingredient cabinet burst into flames. He turned to run, only to find himself face to face with his grinning prisoner.

“Peekaboo,” it said and punched him hard in the gut, the chest, and the face.

He stumbled against his desk and righted himself. It kneed him in the groin and bashed its head against his, breaking his nose. He staggered back further and cast a fireball. It dodged and kicked him in the face before vanishing and disappearing on the other side of the room. He hurled an enchanted dagger. It raised some sort of force field, deflecting the dagger—which sped back and lodged in his own heart.

As he fell, the fae thing pounced on him, uttered something that sounded like Sanskrit... and snapped his neck.

The green-haired man stood, took a deep breath, and fanned the flames to ensure that the whole shack would burn, then teleported back to his motel room. “ _Ohhh_ ,” he groaned as he relaxed. “I love it when you fight like that.”

With that, he walked into the bathroom, stripped, and showered, but by the time he was finished, his breathing was becoming labored, and certain parts of his anatomy were growing very uncomfortable indeed. He toweled off quickly and staggered out of the bathroom to collapse on the single king-sized bed.

“Please,” he gasped. “ _Please_....”

As a ball of green light formed just below his ribs, his body changed. His hair shortened and turned sandy brown; his green eyes lost their brown streaks; his skin faded to Anglo-Scots pale, and his freckles reappeared; and his legs resumed their usual slight bow. The ball of light moved to the other side of the bed, lengthened into a horizontal column, and coalesced into a buxom olive-skinned woman with long green hair.

“You’re lucky I’m as happy in my own skin as I am in yours,” Zeetha Winchester teased.

“C’mere, _you_ ,” her husband Dean growled and rolled on top of her, making her laugh.

* * *

“So,” Dean said the next morning as the couple sat at the motel room table, sharing coffee and beignets. “Hunt’s finished. What should we do today?”

Zeetha hummed thoughtfully and swallowed her bite of pastry. “I dunno. Never done Halloween in the French Quarter before.”

He grimaced. “Yeah, I know, but... Halloween’s not my thing.”

“Except for the candy,” they chorused, clinked mugs, and drank.

After she swallowed, she continued, “Truth is, though... I’m kinda worried about Sam.”

He was, too, but then, Sam was his younger brother and life-long charge; worry about Sam was Dean’s default state. “How come?”

She sighed. “Gil says he never comes to Adventure Club stuff anymore. Maybe meals sometimes, or a movie night once in a while, minor stuff. Jess even comes with him sometimes. But especially when there’s a big event planned, and sometimes even when it’s just Gil and Agatha who’ve invited Sam and Jess over for supper or out on a double date, _something_ comes up—and it’s usually Brady having a relapse or Zola having a breakdown.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wish Sammy would ditch those freaks. He’s already wasted two quarters trying to get Brady into rehab, and Zola’s just trouble all the way around. She’s not even a student; she’s just some chorus girl who’s conned her way into being best buds with Jess. It’s not like he has no other friends.”

“But that’s my point. These problems seem _calculated_ , like one or both of them are _trying_ to keep Sam away from the Adventure Club, and specifically away from Gil and Agatha. And I’ve got a hunch it’s not just because they’re his in-laws.”

He nodded slowly. Now that she mentioned it, he remembered that Sam had been complaining of a similar pattern, though neither of them had quite reached Zeetha’s conclusion. “All right, so... head to Palo Alto?”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay.”

They paused, each considering the last bites of beignet they held, then looked at each other... and began racing to dab up the last of the powdered sugar from the take-out box.

“Y’know, we’re gonna get fat if we keep eatin’ like this,” he joked.

“No, we won’t,” she jibed back, stole his bite out of his fingers, and popped her bite into his mouth.

He trapped her fingers gently with his teeth and licked the sugar off them. She purred.

Her tongue was down his throat and his chair was threatening to break when he became dimly aware of “Smoke on the Water” playing from his back pocket.

“Phone,” he gasped when she came up for air, just about the time the ringtone stopped.

“Let ’em _wait_ ,” she growled—and they were back in bed, and the chair toppled over with their clothes.

He was in no condition to argue.

After she finished doing wild and wonderful things to him, body and soul, and a joint shower had punctuated their ongoing attempt to keep the happy endings in their fairytale marriage, he finally remembered to check his voice mail. He cursed quietly when he saw Dad’s number on the Missed Calls list.

“What?” she asked, looking up from packing their bags.

“Dad,” he replied.

She sat down beside him and listened as he played the short message. By the time it was over, they were staring at each other in horror.

He saved the message while she unpacked his laptop.

* * *

Monday night, at a club near the Stanford campus, Luis went back to the bar for more shots, even though no one else at the table wanted any, while Jess Moore gave Sam a pep talk about his upcoming interview at Stanford Law. It didn’t do much to calm his nerves or ease his discomfort with his surroundings, and it didn’t stop him from thinking that they should have gone to the Adventure Club’s Halloween party instead, even though the drinks would have been lethal because Theo DuMedd was tending the bar at that party. Neither Sam nor Jess had Tuesday-Thursday classes this term, so they would have had time to recover, _and_ they wouldn’t have had to drive because the Adventure Club party was in the clubhouse of their own apartment complex. Brady and Zola Malfeazium had both added their invitations to this shindig on top of Luis’, though, and Jess had insisted they go—so of course neither Brady nor Zola had showed yet. Still, Sam appreciated Jess’ effort to cheer him up and celebrate his high LSAT score, so he smiled fondly at her across the table.

“What would I do without you?” he asked.

“Crash and burn,” she replied as usual, returning the smile.

There was a slight commotion at the bar just then, and Sam turned to see some drunk guy with green hair get pointed his direction. The guy turned, smiling broadly, and started their way, swaying a little as he walked. There was something vaguely familiar about him, down to the slight slant of his eyes and the leather and ball-chain necklaces tucked into his T-shirt; but Sam didn’t _think_ he’d ever seen this person before.

“Heyyy!” the guy said, swaggering up to the table, left hand stuck in his jeans pocket. “ _Kuv tus nus yau_ *—little Sammy!” he added with an Asian accent too stereotypical to be real.

Sam narrowed his eyes; he’d heard that phrase before, but it had been long enough that he didn’t remember what it meant. “Can I help you?”

“Got message for you from brotha. We talk outside, okay?”

“No, not okay. We talk here.”

“Oh, no, no, no. Is ver private—famlee biz. You come with me now.”

This patently fake accent and suspiciously broken English were really getting on Sam’s nerves. “Who the hell are you?”

“You no come, you no find out.” And there was a brief flash of green light in the stranger’s eyes as he waggled his eyebrows.

Sam swallowed hard, excused himself, and followed the stranger out into the parking lot. “Okay,” he began about the time they reached the first row of cars. “What’s—”

Suddenly the stranger stumbled with a very idiomatic English curse and collapsed against the hood of a familiar-looking black car, as if his legs had given out. “Don’t _do_ that!” he groaned, with a clear Texas accent and evidently not addressing Sam. After a pause, he added, “Not in _public!_ ”

There was a green flash, and... _Zeetha_ was grinning down at _Dean_. “Spoilsport,” she teased, tweaked his nose, winked at Sam, and vanished.

Groaning again, Dean hauled himself upright, using the Impala for leverage, and braced himself on the hood as he caught his breath. “Sammy,” he said without turning around, “gettin’ married was the _best_ mistake I ever made.”

Sam floundered for a response for a moment. What finally came out was, “You can _merge?!_ ”

“Yyyep.” Dean turned around to face Sam and plopped down on the hood, then flipped his amulet out from inside his T-shirt.

“Since when?!”

“Since the night she proposed. First time was an accident—almost happened with Gil once. You know the whole... angel vessel thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, well, she reached for my soul and got sucked all the way in for a few minutes. Best sex I’d ever had in my life,” Dean added under his breath.

Sam blushed and coughed.

Dean cleared his throat. “Anyway, we both liked it so much, we keep doin’ it. Party bonus is, instant disguise—nobody recognizes us.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t.”

“And _that_ , little brother, was the point.”

Sam crossed his arms. “Okay, Dean. Why are you here?”

“Dad’s disappeared.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “So he’s off on a bender.”

Dean leaned forward a little. “No, you don’t understand. He was on a hunt down in Jericho, bunch of disappearances on the same stretch of road over the last twenty-odd years, and we haven’t seen him for three weeks. Hadn’t even heard from him since he sent us to New Orleans on a voodoo case ten days ago. Just paged me with coordinates, and that was it; didn’t answer the phone when I tried to call him about it.”

“Have you checked with Gil?”

“What do you think Zeetha’s doin’?”

Sam huffed.

“But Gil probably doesn’t know anything, either. Dad ditched Klaus six months ago. _He_ says Klaus is too wrapped up in tryin’ to find Barry to be a good partner anymore. _Klaus_ says Dad’s losin’ his mind and Bobby shoulda gone ahead an’ shot him instead of just threatening to.”

“And the truth is probably somewhere in between.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“So why come to me?”

“Dad finally called yesterday morning. Left a voice mail. Ash says the last GPS hit from his phone was on that same stretch of road in Jericho.”

“Dean, that’s five hours south of here.”

“And three seconds after he hung up from leaving that message, his phone went _dark_. No GPS signal, no voice mail, nothing. Ash hacked every system he could find. Nada. It’s like his number doesn’t even exist.”

Okay, Sam had to admit that was worrisome. Not that he was ready to do so out loud yet. “So what was the message?”

Dean pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and pushed a few buttons while Sam walked over to sit down beside him. With a beep, Dean switched to speakerphone just in time for Sam to hear an automated woman’s voice say, _“You have one saved message. First message, sent Sunday at 8:55 a.m.”_

 _“Dean,”_ Dad’s urgent voice began, _“something big is starting to happen.”_ Static—EVP—obscured part of what followed. _“I need to try and figure out what’s going on. It may....”_ The EVP kicked up again. _“Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”_

 _“End of message,”_ the automated voice stated. _“To erase this message—”_

Dean hung up and looked at Sam.

“You know there’s EVP on that,” Sam stated.

Dean chuckled and pulled a small voice recorder out of his other jacket pocket. “Slowed it down, ran it through Goldwave, took out the hiss....” He pressed Play.

 _“I can never go home,”_ a woman’s voice moaned. _“I can never go home....”_

Sam sucked in a deep breath as Dean stopped the playback. “Dean, I can’t just run off on a case with you. I’ve still got classes, and I’ve got a law school interview on Thursday; it’s my whole future on a plate. Why can’t you do this with Zeetha?”

“Because this is _Dad_ ,” Dean replied gravely. “And because Zeetha isn’t you.”

“She’s your wife!”

“You’re my brother.” When Sam huffed, Dean pressed, “Yes, I love Zeetha. We’re a good team. And I’m closer to her than I’ve ever been to anyone else, even Gil. I mean, literally one flesh.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“But I’ve only had her for three years. I’ve had you for twenty-two. And she and Gil both say there’s some sort of connection between your soul and mine that’s different, deeper and stronger than even the consort bond I’ve got with her. I need you, Sammy. I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want to.”

Sam looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “Is she coming with us?”

“No. Said she’d hang with the in-laws for a few days. Said you and I need some bro time.”

Sam sighed again. “Okay. I’ll go say goodbye to Jess.”

Dean smiled. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“It’s _Sam_ ,” Sam objected as he stood, but there was no heat in it.

* * *

It wasn’t until Dean stopped at the gate to Sam’s apartment complex and entered the gate code before Sam could give it to him that he realized he hadn’t actually been to Sam and Jess’ apartment before—well, _Jess’_ apartment, technically. Sammy’s name might be on the lease, but he hadn’t gotten a housing stipend as generous as the one Gil had gotten from Boeing, and his grades slipping due to Brady’s plunge into drug addiction had cost him the stipend he’d had, so Jess was the one paying the rent with her parents’ money. Gil and Agatha lived in this same complex, in one of the larger two-bedroom apartments in the building across the parking lot from Sam and Jess, and when Dean and Zeetha came to visit, they usually stayed with the Wulfenbachs. Vanamonde von Mekkhan and Ardsley Wooster roomed together somewhere in the complex, too, although they normally came over to Gil and Agatha’s to hang out; Ardsley actually worked for them now that he had his Master’s, handling the communications side of their aerospace consulting business. But Sam had always seemed a little embarrassed to let Dean see his place... of course, the fact that Zeetha had been the first to call it his _love nest_ probably hadn’t helped.

(Hell, Dean was in no position to judge. The main reason he and Zeetha had bothered to make their marriage official was to get her Green Card and start her citizenship paperwork. Theoretically, she already was a citizen by virtue of being Klaus’ daughter, but the fact that Klaus had been legally dead for almost a decade by the time Gil and Zeetha were born kind of put an extra snarl in the red tape. And Dean’s legal status was dodgy enough with the grave “desecrations” and credit card fraud; they didn’t need INS after them, too.)

Sam seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he sighed as the gate opened and Dean rolled up his window. “I, uh... haven’t seen anyone all quarter. How is everyone?”

Dean spared him a sidelong glance before driving forward. “‘Everyone’ as in....”

“The Adventure Club.”

“They’re all still in town. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do. It’s just... I hardly even see Van and Ardsley for more than two seconds, and they live right upstairs. This quarter’s really been intense, between trying to get finished and studying for the LSAT in case I had to take it again in February.”

“Hey, speakin’ of....”

“Finally got my scores this morning. Guess they’d gotten lost in the mail or something. Anyway, I made a 174.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Maximum is 180.”

“Well, hell, Sammy, what’d you miss?”

Sam huffed.

Dean chuckled. “Dude, that’s awesome.”

Zeetha sent him a mental nudge just then before opening the merge-link. _Hey. Need to talk._

 _Meet me outside_ , Dean returned. _Need your stuff, too._

“So?” Sam prompted.

“Uh,” Dean replied before he remembered what the question was. “Theo’s started his... whatchacallit... clerkships?”

“Yeah, it’s the same thing as clinical rotation.”

“Right, right, gotcha. Started that this quarter. Sleipnir’s got a gig with a mechanical engineering firm across town. Tarvek and Colette are still with that tech startup. Last I talked to Tarvek, he said Violetta’s a senior at Bethany Lutheran, might be goin’ to grad school for Physical Therapy next year. And apparently Boeing’s really puttin’ pressure on Gil for him and Agatha to move to St. Louis and work for their Integrated Defense Systems branch full time. That would get them closer to Beetleburg, but Gil’s not sure they should move. Said they’re gonna talk it over with the Clays at Thanksgiving.”

Suddenly Dean wasn’t so sure the Wulfenbachs should move, either. Now that Zeetha had alerted him to the possibility that Brady and Zola were deliberately keeping Sam away from Gil and Agatha, Dean remembered that the ultra-generous scholarship offer from Boeing that had brought Gil here in the first place had also served to get him away from the Winchesters and could have wrecked their friendship altogether had Dean and Gil not made a concerted effort to keep in touch. And thinking of that reminded Dean that all the other Adventure Club members had gotten too-good-to-be-true out-of-state job offers or grad school scholarships right around the time they graduated. Most of the kids who hadn’t been part of the core group had taken the bait and left. But Gil had stayed for Agatha, who hadn’t wanted to leave Sam and Van even after she’d graduated that spring; Theo and his wife Sleipnir had stayed for Gil and Agatha; and Tarvek Murphy... had been suspicious when he and his wife Colette both got offers from a company in Japan they’d never heard of before.

Dean really hated it when Tarvek’s paranoia paid off.

“Uh, park here,” Sam said, pointing to an empty parking space, and Dean did so. “Were... you gonna come up?”

“In a minute,” Dean replied. “Zeetha needs to get her stuff.”

“Doesn’t she have her own key?”

“It’s in her bag, which is in the trunk. Just go hide your porn, will you? I’ll be up in, like, five minutes.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Jerk.” But he waited for Dean’s usual reply, and got it, before he got out of the car with a smile.

Chuckling, Dean turned off the engine and got out just in time to see Zeetha walking across the parking lot toward him. “Anything?” he called to her.

“Not from Dad,” she called back. She waited until she was past the row of cars behind the Impala to continue, “Gil talked to Dad yesterday after we called, but he said Dad hasn’t heard from John since they split up.”

He huffed. “Figured.” Then he opened the trunk and the arsenal so she could get her swords.

“Is Sam going with you?”

“Yeah, just went up to pack.”

She grabbed her swords and slung them across her back. “You should go up to help him.”

He blinked and closed the arsenal. “I was planning to, but why?”

“Van and Ardsley’s apartment is right above Sam’s.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Last time they hosted game night, Gil and Agatha both sensed something dark in Sam’s apartment, like a cursed object. But they don’t want to break in and search for it, for obvious reasons.”

“We don’t have any curse boxes.”

“That’s all right. If you can find it, I can come by tomorrow and destroy it.”

He nodded, handed her duffle to her, closed the trunk, and kissed her soundly. “Gonna miss you,” he murmured.

She smiled. “It’s only a night or two.”

“Still gonna miss you.”

She kissed him back. “I’ll miss you, too.” Then she gave him a warm hug and left to go back to the party.

He took a deep breath and let it out again. If he was going to search, he needed to do it fast, before Jess felt safe to drive and came home. Sam wouldn’t think anything of his snooping, but Jess was already unhappy that Sam was taking off mid-week. She’d throw a fit if she caught Dean scouring the apartment for whatever this cursed object was.

So resolved, he took another deep breath and jogged up to Sam’s apartment, knocked, and let himself in. “It’s me,” he announced.

“That wasn’t five minutes,” Sam called back from the bedroom.

Dean resisted the temptation to launch into “Argument Clinic.” “What, did you set a timer or something?”

Sam’s snort was loud enough to be heard in the living room.

Now that Dean was inside, it was clear just how much this apartment really did belong to Jess. Granted, growing up on the road had trained both brothers to keep their worldly possessions to a minimum, but Sam had lived in this town for over four years now, time enough to acquire some junk. Maybe putting up a wrestling poster of his first crush—what was her name... Rio?—wouldn’t be smart, but Dean still would have expected to see _some_ sign of Sam’s tastes in the décor. Yet everything on the walls was either generic college stuff, pictures of Jess with Sam or Jess with her friends, or pictures even Sam wasn’t girly enough to have picked out on his own...

... or a... framed silver coin?

Dean sent Zeetha an attention-getting signal as he walked over to examine the coin more closely. _Ever seen one of these before?_ he asked, studying the cuneiform inscription around the edge and the two-faced bust in the center—almost like Janus, but the conical hat and funky straight beards were definitely more Mesopotamian.

 _Hm_ , she replied. _Sumerian, I think. Never seen one up close before, only pictures. Where’d he get it?_

“You collectin’ coins now, dude?” he called to Sam, aware that Zeetha was keeping the link open to listen.

Sam came out of the bedroom. “What?”

Dean pointed to the coin. “This thing.”

“Oh, that. Zola gave it to Jess as a thank-you gift a few weeks ago. Said it’s supposed to be a good luck charm.”

Zeetha swore.

Dean frowned. “How many good-luck charms do you know that aren’t actually cursed?”

Sam huffed. “Dean, it’s probably just a cool coin she found in a thrift shop. Besides, it’s not like I’m gonna give Jess my professional opinion every time she gets a present from someone outside the family.”

Something about the way he said that set off alarm bells for Dean. He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Jess still doesn’t know what we do, does she?”

“No, and with any luck, she’s not _going_ to, ’cause there’s no _we_ about it anymore. What you and Zeetha and Dad do is your own business. Yes, I’ll help you look for Dad just this once. But I’m out. I’m done.”

“Sure, Sam.” Dean rapped on the coin’s frame with a knuckle. “That’s why people give your girlfriend museum pieces for good luck.”

“It’s _not_ a museum piece. The engraving is too new. Look, it’s in mint condition,” Sam noted, jabbing a finger at the figure in the middle. “If that came out of a dig somewhere, it’d be worn from use, not to mention tarnished. The engraver probably put it straight into the frame as soon as it was made.”

Dean threw up his hands. “All right, fine. Forget it. Just don’t ask me to take it with us.”

Sam rolled his eyes and went back to the bedroom.

Zeetha swore again. _This is bad._

Dean suppressed a sigh. _You’re telling me. Whatever the hell it is, if it is cursed, that means the maker’s deliberately playing with Sumerian magic. And Zola probably knows it._

_If she’s not the one who made it herself. Hey, your phone’s got a camera, right?_

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked it over; he hadn’t had it more than a month, so he hadn’t really explored its features. But yes, there on the back was a camera lens. It had an obvious fingerprint on it, so he wiped it as best he could on the hem of his shirt and raised it to point at the coin. After a moment’s searching, he found a button with a camera on it, which he pushed—and then hoped Sam hadn’t heard the shutter noise the phone made.

 _Okay_ , he thought to Zeetha, _now what?_

_Uh... “Hey, Gil, how does Dean send a picture from his phone to my phone?”_

Gil rattled off some instructions, which Dean heard through the link and followed as best he could, and a moment later, he got a confirmation message that the image had sent.

 _Got it_ , Zeetha confirmed a moment later. _Gil can talk me through how to email it to Bobby; he’s about the only person we know in this country who can read that inscription. Mom and I never went that far west, so cuneiform’s not one of the scripts I know._

 _Hope it’s clear enough for him_ , Dean replied and shoved his phone back in his jacket pocket. _If it’s not, I guess you can bring Agatha over tomorrow and use her camera._

Just then, a key rattled in the door lock. Jess was home.

 _Signing off_ , Zeetha stated and sent the mental equivalent of a kiss before the link disengaged.

Dean sat down on the couch a split second before the door opened and Jess came in. She actually jumped a little when she saw him. “Oh! Uh. Hi, Dean.”

“Hey, Jess,” he returned.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting... uh, where’s....”

Sam came out of the bedroom with his backpack just then. “Hey. Sorry to take off like that.”

Jess put her hands on her hips. “Sam, what is going on? All you said was ‘family emergency.’ Is somebody dead, or....”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not that serious. Our dad’s at his deer cabin, and he’s stopped answering his phone. Odds are, he’s just got Jim, Jack, and Jose with him; it’s nothing to worry about.”

Scowling, Dean stood up. “Sammy, you know damn well I wouldn’t come get you on a weeknight if that were all this is.”

Sam pulled a face and shoved his backpack into Dean’s hands. “Do you _mind?_ ”

Dean sighed. “Good to see you, Jess,” he stated and left Sam to have his own argument.

When Sam came down a few minutes later, however, he had a duffle in each hand and a scowl on his face. He threw his bags in the back seat and himself in the front seat, slamming the door each time.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Sam snapped.

“Nothin’, huh? That why you packed two duffle bags for a one- or two-night stay?”

Sam glanced in the back seat in surprise, like he hadn’t realized he’d just packed up practically everything he owned. “I—it—force of habit. Can we just _go?_ ”

Dean didn’t say anything else, just started the engine.

“Look, we’re fine, Jess and I. I just didn’t want her worrying about us. She knows I hate Dad, and she’s worried I won’t make it back for the interview. So I fed her a few little white lies.”

“Yeah, _that’s_ healthy.”

“ _Dean_ , not every girl is like Zeetha. Will you please butt out?”

Dean backed out of the parking space and headed toward the gate. “I’m just sayin’, she’s gonna start wondering what else you’re lyin’ to her about.”

Sam huffed. “Well, I’m not. She knows I’m not.”

“If you say so.”

Sam huffed again, scrunched up the blanket Zeetha had left on the front seat to put behind his head, and rather pointedly fell asleep. And he stayed that way for the next three hours; then, just as Dean was starting to scout for a motel, Sam startled awake, breathing hard.

“Sammy?” Dean asked.

It took Sam several harsh pants to be able to reply. “Ni-... nightmare. It’s... I’ll... I’ll be all right.” Then he groaned and rubbed his forehead.

“Headache?”

“Yeah. Always happens after this one.”

Dean blinked. “You mean it’s recurring?”

“I’m _fine_ , Dean. Where are we?”

Dean seriously doubted Sam was anywhere close to fine, but all he said was, “Outskirts of Fresno. Figure we’d better stop here for the night.”

Sam nodded, pulled out his phone, and fired off a text message to Jess as Dean took the nearest exit to get to the Motel 6. Neither of them said anything else until they were in the room and had the salt lines set.

Then Sam sighed. “Not sure I can get back to sleep yet.”

“Dude, I didn’t stop for you,” Dean said, pulling a clean T-shirt and boxers out of his bag. “Me an’ Zeetha drove straight through. ’Sides, depending on what the local cops think about Dad, we may need a room this far out for safety.”

Sam looked at him oddly. “All I said was that I don’t think I can sleep right now.”

“Okay. Fine. Why don’t you... start doin’ some research, if you’re gonna be up a while?”

“Dean....”

“What, Sam? You gonna feed me a few little white lies ’cause you don’t want me to worry about you? _Fine_. Keep your damn secrets.” And before Sam could answer, Dean stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

When Dean came out after his shower a while later, Sam had his laptop set up and was either so engrossed in research that he didn’t hear Dean or was pointedly ignoring him. Dean was too tired and grumpy to care which and went straight to bed without even saying good night.

* * *

* My younger brother (Hmong Daw; yes, it’s the wrong dialect for Klaus’ assumption that Zantabraxus is Mong Leng, but that’s deliberate. Zeetha’s a polyglot, as I’ll explain later.)


	3. Chapter 2: The Woman in White

“I’ve got something,” Sam announced the next morning as he woke Dean and handed him a mug of coffee. 

Dean took a long drink before sitting up all the way. “You get any sleep at all, dude?”

“Couple hours.”

Dean looked blearily at the clock and saw that it was just after 6. Then he took another drink of coffee, which helped. “Somethin’ on Dad?”

Sam shook his head and sat down on the other queen bed, which Dean could now see had in fact been slept in. “There’s nobody in the hospital or the morgue matching Dad’s description. The only motel in Jericho doesn’t have its records anywhere I could hack into, so I couldn’t see if he’s still registered there.”

Dean nodded and drank some more. “So what have you got?”

“The hunt. It’s a woman in white.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“I used that research folder that was in the back seat as my starting point. All the disappearances were men—including one that happened last night, just after we checked in here. Good thing we’ve got an alibi.”

Dean shrugged with his eyebrows and drank some more coffee.

“But there were a few news stories that mentioned ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, strained marriages, that sort of thing. So I took the first disappearance in 1982 as the _terminus ante quem_ —”

“The _what?!_ ”

“The end point before which to search.”

“Why couldn’t you....” Dean gave up with a grumble and drained his mug.

“Anyway, there was a suicide in 1981 that fits the profile. A woman named Constance Welch jumped off the Sylvania Bridge—that’s on the same stretch of road where the disappearances have occurred—and drowned in the river. News story said her children had drowned in the bathtub and she couldn’t take the guilt.”

“’Cause she’d drowned ’em?”

“Well, her husband claimed she’d left them unattended for a minute, and apparently that’s what she told the 911 dispatcher, too.”

“Yeah, but if she’s a woman in white....”

“I know. I don’t believe that version, either. Not that we’d be able to prove it in court even if we had to, not after all this time.”

Dean waggled his mug, and Sam got up to bring him a refill. “They really need to make these mugs bigger,” Dean murmured as Sam poured. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam waited until Dean had drunk about half of his second cup before asking, “So where do you think we should start?”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he considered. “Motel,” he decided. “Clean out Dad’s room, bring everything back here to go through. Check-out time is noon, but I already told the clerk we might be checking out late or staying another night.”

Sam nodded and put the coffee pot back. “Okay. Should we do any scouting while we’re down there? Interview witnesses?”

Dean shook his head. “I dunno yet. Have to see. Got a suit?”

Sam blinked. “Yeah, brought it with me just in case we get held up and don’t make it back tomorrow. Why?”

“Figure we better do this as Feds chasin’ Dad.”

Sam frowned and sat down again. “You actually wear a _suit_ for that now?”

Dean nodded. “Me an’ Zeetha, we got a system.”

“She actually wears something with sleeves?!”

“In a pinch, yeah, and a wig. But that’s only if I need backup. Normally I hit the PD and she hits the library.”

Sam’s jaw dropped.

“What? She ain’t stupid.”

“That’s not—forget it. Never mind.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Still got ID cards for you in the trunk.”

“Thanks. So... eat first?”

“Yeah. Not sure I’m awake enough to drive.”

“Okay. I’ll go get us something from the continental breakfast.”

“’Kay. Thanks, Sammy.”

“It’s _Sam_ ,” Sam jabbed and grabbed his key card.

* * *

Eating in allowed the Winchesters to get on the road and most of the way through Fresno before rush hour traffic picked up, so they made pretty good time traveling the rest of the way to Jericho. The Sylvania Bridge was on the north side of town, and as they passed, the brothers could see that it was abuzz with activity, probably investigating the previous night’s disappearance. But Dean decided not to stop there yet. Instead, he drove straight to the motel, murmuring a low-grade glamour spell as he pulled into the parking lot.

Sam noticed and frowned. “What was that?”

“Little somethin’ Zeetha taught me,” Dean replied. “Stops people from askin’ too many questions. Don’t need it as much as I used to, but technically, you’re still too young to be a field agent.”

“Thanks.”

“No, seriously, you can’t even apply to the FBI until you’re 23.”

“No, seriously, thank you. Last thing I need is to get busted for impersonating a federal officer two days before my law school interview.”

Dean chuckled, and they got out at the same time and went into the motel office.

“FBI?” the clerk echoed when the brothers flashed their badges at him. “What—I mean—I thought everyone was out at the bridge, checkin’ out this thing with Troy Squire.”

“We can get the information we need from the local authorities later, if it turns out the case is related,” Dean stated. “We’re after a suspect in a murder case in Kansas.” And he held up the latest picture of Dad he had.

The clerk’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I’ve seen ’im. Said his name’s, uh... Aframian. Burt Aframian. Bought out a room for a whole month. But he ain’t here.”

“You sure?” Sam pressed.

The clerk nodded. “Positive. He drives this... this big black truck, Kansas plates. Sunday mornin’, real early, he takes off like a bat outta hell—you can still see the marks in the parkin’ lot where he peeled out. Ain’t been back since. Never checked out, neither.”

“Has the room been cleaned?”

“Uh, well... the-the maid’s been out sick....”

Dean snorted. “We’re the FBI, not the health department. We just want to take a look at the room.”

“Oh, sure, sure.” The clerk ducked into the back office to get a pass key.

“Good thing we stopped in Fresno last night,” Sam noted, quietly but still pitched to carry into the back office. “This place is a dump.”

“Par for the course,” Dean agreed at the same volume. “Remember that place up in Maine?”

Sam’s shudder wasn’t exaggerated—the only cabin Dad had been able to get for that hunt had been crawling with vermin, and neither bug bombs nor mouse traps had gotten rid of more than a few of the pests. “I just hope he left actual evidence this time. I’m getting sick of chasing this guy all over the country.”

“Well, we’re only, what, fifty hours behind him this time?”

“Less than twelve, if he’s the one who killed Troy Squire.”

The clerk popped out of the office, eyes wide. “ _Killed?!_ No, there’s... he-he just disappeared, honest, agents! The sheriff said—”

Dean looked at him sharply. “The sheriff’s been here?”

“Yeah, ’bout half an hour ago, on his way out to the bridge to meet the dive team. He wanted a look at Aframian’s room, too. Didn’t say what for.”

“Did he take anything?”

“I dunno. I just give ’im the key an’ let ’im go check it out.”

Dean bit back a curse as he exchanged a look with Sam.

“Well, it’s kinda personal for ’im,” the clerk added. “See, Troy, he was datin’ Amy Hein, an’ her dad’s a deputy. An’ there’s been a lotta disappearances out on that part o’ Centennial Highway over the last twenty-odd years, never been solved. I dunno what he’s figured about Aframian, though—best I know, Aframian ain’t never been here ’fore last month.”

Sam sighed. “Just show us the room, please.”

The clerk hurried out from behind the desk and led the brothers down to the end of the building, then opened the door to Dad’s room... and Dean coughed as the stench of rotting meat rolled out to greet them. Sam ducked inside and came out with a half-eaten breakfast taco buzzing with flies, which he chucked into the dumpster.

“Yeah, sorry,” the clerk said, somewhat shame-faced, as Sam came back. “Like I said, the maid’s been out sick.”

“I suggest you hire a replacement,” Sam stated flatly, then turned to Dean. “Looks like something scared him off. All his stuff’s still here.”

Dean coughed once more and nodded. “All right. We’ll impound everything, then go check with the sheriff. You get started; I’ll bring the car around.”

“Right.” Sam accepted the key from the clerk and went back into Dad’s room.

The clerk scurried back to the office, while Dean walked back to the Impala at a more business-like pace, noting the tire marks the clerk had mentioned. But Dean managed to wait until he was back in the tightly-warded car to whisper, “What the _hell_ are you up to, old man?”

 _You’re loud_ , he suddenly heard through the merge-link and felt the faint sensation of being bopped on the head like an alarm clock.

 _You still asleep at this hour?_ he sent back, barely managing not to smile as he started the car and backed out of the parking space.

 _Napping, if you must know_ , Zeetha replied. _Had a little too much fun last night, and Van’s got an 8:00 class, so he couldn’t come fix the coffee for us._

_I warned you about Theo’s cocktails._

_I only had one! It’s a new one, though—200 Proof Electrical Acid Sugar Doom or something like that. Think I’d be safer drinking Klingon blood wine._

He was far enough from the office now that it was safe to chuckle at that. _Any progress on your end?_

_No, not really. Van said Jess won’t be out of the apartment until after 10 anyway; he can run interference for me if I need him to. You?_

Dean recapped their findings quickly as he parked in front of Dad’s room, and Zeetha was still listening as he walked in to find Sam stuffing clothes back into Dad’s duffle. Dad’s research was still pinned up all over the walls, and Dean couldn’t hold back a curse.

“No kidding,” Sam agreed. “I’d be shocked if the sheriff _doesn’t_ have Dad as his prime suspect after seeing all this. And I checked the salt lines; Dad mixed cats-eye shell in with the salt. He was afraid of something.”

Dean sighed. “All right, look, the glamour’s good for a full hour. Let’s get this stuff cleared out as fast as we can before we head to the sheriff’s office.”

“Right. I already took a couple pictures with my phone, just in case.”

Dean nodded once and started unpinning papers from the nearest wall. _You gettin’ all this?_ he asked Zeetha.

 _Oh, yeah_ , she replied. _I’m wide awake now. If Papa John bugged out and left all of this... he wasn’t kidding about whatever he meant by “something big is starting to happen.” I’ll get Ash working on omens before I call Bobby about the coin._

_Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll call you when we get back to Fresno; it’ll probably be around noon._

_Gotcha._ She blew him a kiss and shut down the link.

As Sam finished with the closet and ducked into the bathroom, Dean finished gathering the materials specifically relating to this hunt into one stack of papers and set them on the dresser. “You were right,” he called to Sam, glancing at the news story on the top of the pile.

Sam poked his head out again. “What?”

Dean gestured to the stack as he moved on to gather the next set of papers. “Dad found that news story about Constance Welch, too. Wrote ‘Woman in white’ across the top.”

“Hm. Think he burned her already?”

“Don’t know why he wouldn’t have.”

Frowning, Sam went back to work and came out a moment later with Dad’s shaving kit. “Wonder what made him take off like that.”

“I dunno, but you’d better get that stuff out to the car before the sheriff comes back.”

“Right.” Sam tossed the shaving kit in the duffle and started to reach for the leather jacket Dad had left on the bed.

“Leave that out,” Dean decided suddenly. “I’ll want it to change into when we leave.”

Sam blinked, shrugged, and zipped up the duffle, then carried it and the jacket out to the car. When he came back in, he started working on the opposite side of the room. “Half of this stuff doesn’t have any bearing on the case at all,” he noted after a few minutes. “I mean, cambions, demons, sirens? What the hell was he doing here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said an unfamiliar voice from the doorway. “More specifically, I’d like to know what the hell _you_ boys are doin’ here. You’re interfering with my investigation.”

Dean turned to see a uniformed man who bore a striking resemblance to Edward G. Robinson standing in the open doorway. The stranger’s nameplate read _Pierce_ , and he had something that looked like Dad’s journal in his left hand. Sam, on the other hand, didn’t even pause in collecting Dad’s papers.

“No, Sheriff Pierce,” Dean stated, flashing his fake badge. “You’re interfering with ours.”

An odd look crossed Pierce’s face, like he was fighting the glamour. “Nobody called for the FBI,” he snarled.

“You didn’t have to. We’d been trying for three weeks to track this guy down after he gave us the slip in Iowa. Finally got a hit on his phone Sunday morning. Computers were down in Sacramento, and Frisco kept giving us the run-around—we got held up so long we had to stop at a Motel 6 in Fresno last night.”

“A Motel 6? On the Agency’s dime?”

“It was _late_. We took the first available. The point is, we didn’t hear about your missing person until we got here this morning.”

The odd look crossed Pierce’s face again. “Iowa, you said?”

“Yeah. Chased him up there from Oklahoma.”

“And how long was he in Oklahoma?”

“He was there on September 19, if that’s what you’re asking,” Sam spoke up.

Pierce blinked. “What?”

“That _was_ when Andrew Carey went missing, wasn’t it?”

“Now, how the hell do you know that?”

Dean pointed to the papers on the dresser. “Same way you know Winchester’s interested in these disappearances.”

Pierce opened his mouth to ask something else but stopped short. “Winchester?”

“Aframian’s an alias,” Sam said, finishing the wall he’d been clearing and bringing his set of papers to add to the stack on the dresser. “His real name is John Winchester. We’ve been after him for years.”

Frowning, Pierce came further into the room. “Your name isn’t Dean by any chance, is it?”

“No,” Sam answered honestly.

“’Cause when I was here earlier, I found your so-called suspect had run off and left this.” Pierce held up the leather-bound volume that Dean could now clearly see was in fact Dad’s journal. “Same kind of stuff he had on the walls, crazy Satanist mumbo-jumbo... except for this.” He opened it to one of the later pages, which bore only a huge circled note: _DEAN 35 -111_. “I figure he left it for somebody—a partner, maybe. Like you.”

“If you’ve read that journal,” Sam answered evenly, “you know Winchester’s crime spree didn’t start until 1984, two years _after_ the first Centennial Highway disappearance.”

“Yeah, and Agent Partridge here wasn’t even in school yet,” Dean noted, jerking his head toward Sam and getting back to work on collecting papers. “Nice try, Sheriff, but if Winchester’s involved in this Troy Squire thing, it’s a copycat crime at the most. And if he left this much behind, especially that journal, it means he’s long gone—probably left just after we found him on Sunday, so he’s most likely three states away and has been for days. So why don’t you let us take care of him and look closer to home for your serial perp?”

“And next time, don’t remove evidence from a federal crime scene,” Sam concluded, and Dean looked out the corner of his eye as Sam held his hand out for the journal.

Pierce made a variety of unhappy faces before closing the journal, slapping it into Sam’s hand, and stomping out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Sam turned back to Dean, eyes widening: _That was close._

Dean grimaced and nodded toward the dresser. Sam nodded back and set the journal next to the stack of papers, then collected the few personal items Dad had left out on the dresser, like a rosary and a picture of the three of them from ’87-ish. Meanwhile, Dean went back to pulling papers off the walls. Several in a section about witches were in French, but Dean didn’t really pay much attention to them. He just knew they had to get going before the sheriff recognized the Impala from Dad’s pictures.

And get going they did, just a few minutes later. Pierce was still waiting in his squad car at the other end of the parking lot, but the only stop the brothers made was at the motel office to let the clerk know they were leaving and return the key. After that, though, Dean drove straight out of town, keenly aware that Pierce was following them and would probably follow them all the way to the county line.

“So much for interviewing witnesses,” Sam sighed.

“Wouldn’ta helped,” Dean noted. “Like I said, Dad’s long gone. Those coordinates he left probably mean he wants us to pick up where he left off.”

“‘Us’ as in you and me or ‘us’ as in you and Zeetha?”

“Hell, Sammy, I dunno. Speakin’ of which, though, how the hell’d you know where Dad was on September 19?”

“That was the Monday after my LSAT, remember? And you’d called the Friday before and said you guys were spending the weekend at Bobby’s and then meeting Dad in Stillwater that Monday.”

Dean laughed. “Dude, I _told_ you I needed your help on this one!”

Sam huffed, but he was smiling. “Guess we need to check out those coordinates, then.”

“Yeah, but after we get the sheriff off our tails. Gotta get outta this county ’fore the glamour wears off.”

“Okay. Guess I can start going through these papers in the meantime.”

They didn’t talk much after that. Dean didn’t even dare turn the radio on until he saw the sheriff slow down and turn back at the county line. Sam got so engrossed in his reading, however, that when they got back to Fresno, Dean had to thump him on the ear to let him know they were stopping for lunch.

“Find any patterns yet?” Dean asked while they waited for their food.

Sam sighed. “No, not really. But I don’t think it took him this long just to track down the info about Constance Welch. I mean, this stuff is all over the place in subject matter and location. He was here because of the hunt, I’m sure, but I don’t think it had his full attention. He was worried about something else.”

“Like the thing that killed Mom?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Or he might have been trying to plan out a series of hunts in advance. Hell if I know why.”

“Could explain the coordinates.”

“Yeah, but... does that mean he’s trying to send you and Zeetha on a wild goose chase? Does he not want us to find him? And if he took off in the middle of a case, which we know he didn’t finish... y’know, it almost looks like he _realized_ something in the middle of eating breakfast Sunday morning and bugged out. Called you when Constance came after him on the way out of town, stopped long enough to burn her, and left thinking he’d taken care of her.”

Dean leaned back in his seat, raising his chin and narrowing his eyes as he considered the idea. “So you think it was Constance who killed his phone?”

Sam shrugged. “Either that, or Dad got smart awfully fast. You know he can barely even work a toaster if it’s got more than one dial.”

That was actually a fair point. Dad was a long way from stupid, and he was a wizard with anything mechanical, especially cars and explosives; but computers and anything like them were the bane of his existence and always had been. Klaus had almost literally had to twist Dad’s arm to get him to buy a cell phone in the first place, and when Dean had called Ash Sunday morning, Ash had had no idea how Dad had managed not only to turn off the GPS but also kill his voice mail. Since the sheriff had given no indication that Dad’s truck had been found abandoned anywhere in the area, it stood to reason that Constance hadn’t managed to off him in broad daylight, which wouldn’t be the usual MO for a woman in white anyway. But it might make sense for her to have fried his phone.

The food arrived just then, so by unspoken agreement, the brothers left the conversation there and ate quickly so they could continue their research back in the safety of their motel room. Sam took Dad’s papers inside to keep reading while Dean went to the front desk to inform the clerk that they’d most likely need a second night.

As he was walking back into the room, however, Zeetha suddenly nudged his mind. _Are you back in Fresno yet?_ she asked through the link.

Dean blinked. _Yeah. I was just—_

_Don’t call me. Sam doesn’t need to hear this just yet._

Frowning slightly, Dean retrieved his laptop and took it to the table. _What’s up?_ he asked as he turned the laptop on.

_I just got off the phone with Bobby._

_Was he able to read the inscription?_

_Yes, but that’s not the problem. Well, it’s_ a _problem, but it’s not why I asked you not to call. Bobby said one of the things John had been researching was—_

Sam suddenly swore loudly and dropped most of the stack of papers on bed. He kept hold of two or three pages, which he leafed through a second time and swore again.

 _... I think he found it_ , Zeetha groaned.

Dean eased his phone out of his pocket, dialing Zeetha’s as he did so, then laid it on the table and surreptitiously put it on speaker. “What?” he asked aloud.

“Dad,” Sam snarled. “In with the stuff about witches—he’s been spying on _Zola_.” He held up the papers so Dean could see them. “He’s got her birth certificate, her driver’s license, her immigration records....”

“So?”

“So?! SO?! So why the HELL has Dad been spying on my friends?!”

“Maybe because he knows Zola gave Jess a cursed coin,” Zeetha stated over the phone.

Only then did Sam see that Dean’s phone was sitting on the table. “Zeetha? What—how—cursed? How do you....”

“I sent her a picture,” Dean said.

“The coin depicts Isimud, messenger of Enki, the Sumerian god of magic,” Zeetha explained before Sam could yell at Dean. “I had to get Bobby to decode the inscription—”

“You what?!” Sam yelped.

“Will you shut up and listen?!”

Sam huffed.

“He said it reads, ‘May Isimud bear tidings from the place this image resides to the one who bestows it there.’ Sam, it’s a _bug_. Zola’s been hearing every word spoken in your apartment for weeks!”

Sam looked sour. “I can’t believe you guys. You two, Dad—this whole damn thing was a set-up to come between me and my friends!” And he turned and started toward the door.

“Did Dad kill Constance Welch?” Dean asked, more calmly than he felt.

Sam froze. “What?”

“You heard me. If the whole thing was a set-up, how’d we do it? Is it our fault there’s a hunt here?”

Sam turned back and stomped toward the table. “Don’t be stupid, Dean. That’s not what I meant. I meant you dragging me down here to get me out of the way while Zeetha raided our apartment, and Dad having _this_ —” He snatched Zola’s birth certificate off his bed and waved the paper at Dean, then looked down at it... and did a wide-eyed double-take and swore again.

“What?” Dean and Zeetha both demanded.

“My... my French isn’t that great, but... ‘Mother’s first name: Demonica, married name: Malfeazium, maiden name: _Mongfish_ , place of birth: Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania, USA.’ If this is real....”

“We can call Ash, have him check,” Dean suggested. “Or ask Klaus or the Clays if they know Demonica.”

“But if... if Zola’s kin to Lucrezia somehow....”

“She’s probably a witch.”

Looking decidedly ill, Sam swore bitterly and sat down hard on his bed.

“I’ll go take care of the bug,” Zeetha stated. “Love you both. See you when you get back.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean replied and hung up. “You okay, Sammy?”

“A witch,” Sam repeated dully. “A damn _witch_. And Dad knew. Dammit, Dad, why couldn’t you _tell me?!_ ” He crumpled up the paper and slammed it into the trash can.

“Hey, hey, dude, take it easy. We still don’t know why Zola planted the bug, why she’s targeting Jess, anything. Plus, we still have to take care of Constance Welch. Like I said earlier, Dad probably burned her before he bugged out, so if she’s still tied to that bridge, there’s somethin’ else goin’ on. So let the in-laws do some diggin’ on Zola, and help me figure out how to solve this case.”

Sam sighed heavily. “Yeah, all right.” He blew the air out of his cheeks. “Okay, we know her kids are dead, right? The news story said so. If she’s a woman in white, we know she killed them. And the EVP says, ‘I can never go home.’ Now, we know ghosts that aren’t destroyed by a salt-’n’-burn have some other kind of unfinished business, right?”

“Right.”

“What if that includes facing her first victims?”

Dean blinked. “You’re thinkin’....”

“Take her back, not just _to_ the house, but _into_ the house.”

“How the hell do we do that? Baby and I are shielded, plus I’ve never cheated on Zeetha. I haven’t even _looked_ at another woman since I met her.”

“Not even in skin mags?”

“Nada.” At Sam’s skeptical look, Dean added, “Man, I got my own real live busty Asian beauty who can do things to me they don’t even show in _hentai_. Why the hell should I look elsewhere?”

Sam blushed bright red. “Okay, I did _not_ need to know that.”

“So Constance can’t target me even if she wanted to. And you’ve never....”

“No, I’ve never cheated on Jess. I just... call it a hunch, but I think she’ll come after me, even if she can’t actually attack me. I mean, if Dad’s already burned her, she has to know we’re onto her, and she can’t be too happy about that.”

“She can’t get into my car, though.”

“There’s an abandoned car on the shoulder about five miles south of town. It’s red-tagged; odds are, the owners aren’t coming back for it.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Steal a car? I dunno, Sammy. That’s pretty illegal.”

Sam huffed, but he couldn’t completely stop himself from smiling. “Anyway, you can follow at a safe distance just in case I need backup, and once I get her back into the house, we can come back here for the night.”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “I don’t like you usin’ yourself as bait.”

“You got a better idea?”

“... no.”

Sam leaned forward, puppy eyes on full blast. “Dean. Trust me. Please?”

Under other circumstances, that might not have ended the conversation. But after the bombshell about Zola and the bugged coin, Sam’s plea for trust went far deeper than this one case. Dean knew that... and he really didn’t have any better ideas for how to trap Constance.

He sighed again. “Okay, Sam. Once we jack the car, I’ll give you a thirty-second head start.”

Sam’s smile was small, but his entire face seemed lightened by it. “Thanks.”

“Gonna have to wait ’til late, though. Like, between 9 and midnight—that’s about when Troy disappeared.”

“I know. I’ll email my profs and let them know I may be out tomorrow.”

“And Jess?”

Sam hesitated. “The less Jess knows, the better.”

“She doesn’t even know where we are, does she?”

“No.”

“Sammy—”

“Dude, if Zola knows I’m out of town—”

“What, leaving your girlfriend ignorant and unprotected is a _good_ thing?”

“She’s got Van and Ardsley _right there_ , and Gil, Agatha, and Zeetha close enough to run to. I’m more worried about Zola following us down here.”

“Doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell Jess where you were going _before_ you found out about the coin.” When Sam huffed, Dean pressed, “No, I’m serious, Sammy. Secrets are poison to marriage. You’re gonna have to trust her with the truth sometime.”

Sam only rolled his eyes and went to his laptop. And Dean knew better than to keep after him right now. They’d have three hours in the car to talk when this was over, and if the opportunity to discuss relationships didn’t come up again in that time, Dean could sic Gil on Sam at Thanksgiving.

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed slowly. Sam continued going through the stuff Dad had left behind in his room, while Dean researched the coordinates in Dad’s journal and found that they pointed to Blackwater Ridge, Colorado, where there’d been a recent string of disappearances in the woods. But calling the motels in the area to ask after Dad’s known aliases turned up nothing, and by the time the brothers had finished supper, both of them were ready to take out Constance Welch and get at least one of their problems resolved.

Somewhat surprisingly, Sam’s plan worked almost too well. Dean arrived at the abandoned house that had belonged to the Welches just as Sam rammed his stolen car through the front door. Constance was on Sam’s lap when Dean burst in, but Dean shot her with rock salt once to get her off Sam and again after she pinned Sam against the car with a desk, which gave her kids’ spirits time to manifest before she returned. The kids took care of their mom, and Dean hauled the desk away from Sam and helped him out to the Impala—only for the dome light to reveal five bloodstained holes in his hoodie, ringing his heart.

Dean swore. “What the hell happened?”

Eyes troubled, Sam shook his head. “She wouldn’t get off me. I said I’d never been unfaithful, and... she said, ‘You will be.’ Then she kept kissing me, but suddenly, she just got this... this look, and....” He rubbed at his chest.

Dean slapped his hand away. “Quit that. Here.” He hadn’t absorbed much healing ability from his merges with Zeetha, but he knew he could take care of wounds this slight. He laid his left hand over the holes and concentrated; his marriage mark pulsed with green light, and Sam gasped. “Better?”

“Yeah. Uh, thanks.”

Dean nodded and started the engine. “Let’s get outta here ’fore 5-O shows up.”

“Dean... what did she mean?”

“Bein’ Zeetha’s consort don’t make me psychic, Sammy. You’re gonna have to figure that’n out for yourself.”

Sam sighed. “Okay.”

“But hey. Nice work.”

Sam managed a ghost of a smile. “Thanks.”

Dean smiled back and backed up enough to turn around, and Sam was asleep before they got back to the bridge.


	4. Chapter 3: Jack Flash Sat on a Candlestick

The trip back to Palo Alto the next day was horrendous—almost bad enough to make Dean wish they had had Gil fly them down and back, which was saying something considering how much Dean hated to fly. Service at the diner the Winchesters went to for breakfast was so slow, Dean’s bacon and eggs were cold by the time the brothers’ plates arrived, and Sam’s pancakes were lukewarm and soggy with syrup and melted butter. Traffic snarled at least once every fifty miles. When they thought about stopping for lunch, every restaurant they passed was packed, with lines out the door for the sit-down places and drive-throughs backed up around the block. Sam finally suggested getting Lunchables at a store, and _that_ took forever because half the town was in line to check out. And just when Dean was starting to regain hope that they’d make it to Palo Alto before dark, a thunderstorm rolled in from the coast and dumped so much rain that he could barely see to drive. 

“Dad’s right,” he growled after he’d finished swearing. “There’s somethin’ goin’ on. Maybe I oughta just call Zeetha—”

“Dean!” Sam objected. “I _have_ to go back. I’ve got that interview tomorrow, remember?”

“Sammy, you can’t possibly think this is normal. Either something’s tryin’ to keep us away from Palo Alto, or it’s trying to control what time we get there.”

“You don’t know that. It _could_ be coincidence.”

“Since when do _our_ lives contain coincidences?”

Sam huffed. “Not everything has to be supernatural, dude.”

“Will you stop talkin’ like a civilian and get your head out of the sand?!”

“Look, even if you did call Zeetha and have her meet us, here or in Colorado, that won’t get us out of this storm. We can’t turn around here, and we can’t get off the highway for another three miles. Plus, unless you want to go clear down to Bakersfield and go through Vegas, which is way the hell out of the way, you _have_ to take I-80 to get across the Sierras. And I-80 is _that_ way.” Sam pointed out the windshield, straight ahead.

Dean clenched his jaw and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He knew Sam was right, and yet... every instinct, every sense that his bond with Zeetha had sharpened, everything within him screamed that something was wrong.

“Just... take me home. Please, Dean. You and Zeetha can scout around town, satisfy yourselves, wait for the storm to pass. Spend one more night with Gil and Agatha, and if nothing’s wrong, you can head to Colorado to check out the other hunt tomorrow.”

Dean sighed heavily. “You really wanna go through with this interview, huh?”

“It’s the only one I’ve got so far. I’ve got a shot at a full ride if I get in. If I don’t get in here, though, I may not get in anywhere.”

“Dude, you made a 174 on the LSAT.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have the extracurriculars a lot of places look for. And I don’t have a 4.0 anymore, either.”

“I keep tellin’ you, man—”

“I am _not_ going to regret trying to help Brady, Dean. He’s a good guy. And nobody else was willing to do anything to help him get clean.”

“Or so he said.”

Sam stared at him, then shifted and leaned forward. “Okay, look, you may have had a point about Zola—”

“Zola’s not the only one who’s been keepin’ you away from Gil and Agatha.”

“What, you think it’s some kind of conspiracy or something?!”

Dean shot him a Look.

“Dude, Brady doesn’t even _know_ Zola!”

“Are you sure?”

“I... well, I... I mean... I don’t know how he _could_ know her.”

“How does he know Jess?”

“She was in his Medical Ethics class, the quarter before he changed his major.”

“And how does Jess know Zola?”

“Community outreach with her service sorority. They went down to provide a free health clinic for the girls who work in the nightclubs. But Brady wasn’t involved with that; it happened during that really bad quarter right after his breakdown. He didn’t even know Jess then.”

“What’s he said about his breakdown?”

“I... well, nothing much, really. He’d been pushing himself way too hard during finals; I just... figured the pressure got to him, and he went off the deep end.”

“Have you _asked_ him about it?”

“What the _hell_ , Dean? Yes, of course I asked him about it. More than once. At first he was too messed up to give a straight answer. Then when he started to get clean, he said he didn’t want to talk about it. I was trying to _help_ him—you want me to be the damn Spanish Inquisition?”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition, Sammy.”

Sam had his mouth open to retort to whatever he’d thought Dean was about to say, but that line threw him. He sat back and blinked several times. “Since when do you watch _Monty Python_?”

“Since I married Zeetha. She says it’s good practice for talking to Ardsley.”

Sam snorted.

“Look, I know Brady _used_ to be a good guy. I’m just sayin’, don’t trust him too far now. A radical change in behavior like that... yeah, maybe it could just be a psychotic break, but it ain’t always. Sometimes it’s possession—or worse.”

Sam huffed. “Okay, fine, I won’t invite him to Beetleburg for Thanksgiving.”

Dean rolled his eyes and turned up the radio.

By the time they finally reached the city limits of Palo Alto, however, the storm had let up, and so had the tension in the car. Sam suggested stopping for supper, and for the first time all day, they found a restaurant that wasn’t crowded and had both good food and good service. And the brothers’ conversation over supper was pleasant, mainly consisting of Sam confessing his daydreams about what he was going to do after law school.

Dean wasn’t ready to let his guard down yet, but Sam was happier, and when Sam was happy, Dean was... at least not totally miserable. So when they pulled into the apartment complex’s parking lot shortly after 8 and Sam asked Dean to come up and have a beer, Dean readily agreed.

Everything was fine when they left the car and walked up to the apartment building. As they approached the stairwell, however, Dean was suddenly stopped short, as if he’d walked into a wall. But there was nothing in front of him; the stairwell was completely clear, and so was the approach to it. Huh. Weird.

“Dean?” Sam asked, pausing on the bottom stair and looking back. “What’s wrong?”

Dean shook his head and stepped back a bit. He wasn’t _sure_ what was wrong, and he really didn’t want to reignite the argument they’d had in the car. “N-nothing, nothing. I, uh... just realized I need to go on to Gil and Agatha’s.”

“Oh. All right.”

“But listen, call me after your interview tomorrow. Me an’ Zeetha can take you out for lunch or somethin’ before we head to Colorado.”

Sam blinked. “You’re not... mad that I’m not coming with you?”

Dean sighed. “Dude, you’re out. You deserve your shot at normal. And if Dad doesn’t _want_ us to find him... hell. Maybe we’re better off stickin’ in this area with you than draggin’ you all over with us lookin’ for him.”

Sam came back out to Dean. “I’m worried about him, too. You know that, right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I know. But I’m not lyin’, Sam. I get it.” He paused. “Hell, the fact Stanford Law even wants to talk to you... I’m proud of you.”

Sam looked at him steadily for a moment, then pulled Dean into a hug.

“Hey, now,” Dean teased, returning the hug. “No chick flick moments.”

Sam snorted. “You’ll definitely be here for lunch?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. I’ll call. It’ll probably be around 11.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds good.”

Sam thumped Dean’s back and backed off. “Night, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “Night, Sammy.”

Sam smiled back and headed up the stairs, and Dean turned to go back to the Impala.

 _Dean!_ Zeetha suddenly called through the merge-link, and he looked up to see her running across the parking lot toward him, Gil and Agatha hard on her heels.

Dean jogged out to them. “What’s up?”

“Can you get into Sam’s apartment?” Gil asked.

Dean frowned. “I... I dunno. I was gonna go up with him just now, but something stopped me just outside the stairwell.”

Zeetha swore in Tamil.

Dean’s frown deepened. “What’s wrong?”

“The building’s _warded_ , that’s what’s wrong,” Zeetha answered in English. “And it’s warded specifically against _us_.”

Agatha nodded. “We were supposed to have supper with Van and Ardsley, but we can’t get any closer than you did. We can’t teleport in, either.”

Dean ran a hand over his mouth. “Merged?”

Gil shook his head. “Hadn’t tried it yet. Wouldn’t have done Zeetha any good without you here.”

Dean nodded once. “Let’s try it, then.”

Zeetha nodded back and flowed into him as Gil and Agatha melded into their pure-light joined form. With Zeetha in his passenger seat, Dean turned back toward Sam’s apartment building, where he could now just barely make out some sort of sigils covering every surface... and particularly concentrated around Sam’s apartment. The Wulfenbachs flickered briefly in his peripheral vision.

 _It’s not enough_ , Zeetha said, sounding a little panicked. _They just tried and couldn’t get through. Dean—_

Dean turned back to his in-laws. “Hey!”

The column of light turned toward him.

“ _Yes, dammit!_ ”

The soul-core brightened and plowed straight into his waiting chest, the blue-green outer light blinding him briefly as Gil and Agatha joined Zeetha in that hollow space Gil had once said was meant to house an angel. Dean felt his physical form shift and stretch even more than it usually did when he merged with Zeetha—but he didn’t have time to wonder what he looked like in this state. With a murmur of thanks, he turned back toward the apartment building, where the sigils were now all the more obvious... as was the presence of something dark, demonic, in Sammy’s apartment.

And something kindled in Dean’s soul that even repeated merges with Zeetha hadn’t been able to awaken.

Four sharp syllables, some command he didn’t consciously understand, came snarling out of his mouth, and the sigils broke and vanished. Then he looked at Sammy’s window... and jumped.

* * *

With a sigh of relief at having finally made it home, Sam let himself into his apartment, where he was greeted by the smell of fresh-baked cookies and the sound of water running in the bathroom. He dropped his bags on the couch and went into the kitchen, smiled at the note Jess had left next to a plate full of chocolate chip cookies, ate a cookie, and went back to the bedroom. He hadn’t entirely forgotten his annoyance with Dean or the frustration of the drive back, but they’d parted on good terms, and the fact that Dean said he _understood_ why Sam was insisting on going through with the interview had helped a lot. He was actually kind of looking forward to having lunch with Dean and Zeetha the next day—though not as much as he was looking forward to having Jess in his arms that night.

With such thoughts on his mind, Sam lay down on their bed to doze until Jess finished in the shower, eyes closing as his lips curved upward in a contented smile.

Then a drop of something warm and sticky hit his face.

Then another.

He opened his eyes—and there above him was Jess in a white nightgown, her belly sliced open, bursting into flames... just like in his nightmares. He screamed, fell off the bed, scrambled backward...

... and then there was a blue-green-white flash, and someone was standing over him, raising some kind of bubble of faint white light over him. Another flash, and it was _Dean_ , and Gil, Agatha, and Zeetha were advancing toward the bed. Dean kept holding the bubble of white light while Zeetha pushed the fire back with pale green light; more focused green light glowed across the cut in Jess’ belly, and blue light surrounded her. Gil and Agatha both started humming, and that seemed to increase their powers’ effectiveness. But the fire didn’t go out completely, nor did Gil’s power succeed in stopping the bleeding, and Agatha apparently couldn’t get enough leverage to pull Jess down. Zeetha made some sort of harsh noise that was probably a curse.

“Agent of darkness,” Agatha said, voice echoing enough to vibrate in Sam’s chest, “whatsoe’er you be, I conjure and command you, _SHOW YOURSELF!_ ” The force of the command shook the walls and rattled the windows.

The water turned off in the bathroom... and _Brady_ walked out, smirking and applauding slowly, his eyes oily black and the stench of sulfur rolling out after him. Sam gasped—and grabbed his phone. He’d never faced a creature like this before, but thanks to the argument he’d had with Dean, he could make a shrewd guess as to what it was, and he’d have better luck using Google on his phone than trying to make it past Brady to his laptop.

“Nice,” said Brady. “ _Very_ nice. Never would have expected you freaks to get this far.”

“Let her go,” Agatha ordered.

“Make me.”

Agatha telekinetically swatted him back against the wall. “I said _let her go_. She’s done nothing to you.”

Brady laughed. “You have no idea what this is about, do you? Of _course_ she hasn’t done anything—that’s the point.”

“I said _**let her go.**_ ” The walls shook again.

Brady laughed harder. “Look at you! Three against one, and you’re at a standstill. What do you think you can do to me, huh?”

And Sam read off his phone’s tiny screen, “ _Exorcisamus te, omnis immundus spiritus...._ ”

Brady lurched. The fire went out. Jess screamed as she plunged straight into Gil’s waiting arms. Brady tried to lunge at Sam but bounced off the... shield or whatever Dean was holding over both brothers, which gave Zeetha time to get behind Brady and subdue him.

Agatha gestured to Sam, telling him to slow down his reading, and grabbed Brady by the shirt. “Why did you try to kill Jess?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Brady sneered.

“Why did you try to kill Jess?”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve tried to kill _those_ three? Measles, mono—nothing worked. Boss finally gave me a new plan.”

Sam read another phrase. Brady choked and writhed in the girls’ grasp.

“What plan?” Agatha pressed.

Brady huffed. “Hell, _you_ oughta know, Dean. You were _there_ , weren’t you? Didn’t any of this look familiar?”

The muscle in Dean’s jaw twitched, but that was the only sign he’d even heard Brady. Sam took it as his cue to read another phrase.

“What’s the curse you put on Sam?” Agatha demanded.

Brady huffed again. “Y’know, this is rich. The Michael Sword, the archon’s granddaughter, and the Warrior Queen’s twins shielding the Boy King of Hell.”

Red-hot rage flooded through Sam, and he read another phrase.

“Who ordered you to do this?” Agatha asked.

“No.”

“Who ordered it?”

“It was easy, so easy. Sam didn’t even realize Jess looks so much like your mom, didn’t even know Mary _sold_ him to have her shot at normal. Oh, but sorry, Dean, your dragon is in another castle. I wasn’t even topside in ’83.”

“Who gave you the orders?” Dean asked in a quiet, dangerous tone.

Brady chuckled a little. “No.”

Sam read a full clause.

“Who gave you the orders?” Dean repeated.

“No!”

Sam read almost to the end.

“Who killed our mother?” Dean demanded.

“Azazel!” Brady gasped. “Azazel! S-s-stop... if I go... the kid dies!”

“You’re lucky we don’t kill you both here and now,” Agatha growled. “But you will say nothing to anyone, in Hell or in Heaven or on earth, about what you’ve seen here tonight.”

The power in her command was unmistakable, but Brady snorted. “Or else what?”

Agatha leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Or I’ll sic _Sam_ on you.”

Brady’s eyes widened as he finally looked at Sam, who glared back at him.

“ _Do you understand?_ ”

Visibly terrified, Brady squeaked, “Yes, Mistress!”

Agatha nodded and let go. “Sam?”

“... _audi nos_ ,” Sam concluded.

A foul-smelling cloud of black smoke came roaring out of Brady’s mouth and down through the floor. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped back against Zeetha. Dean dropped the shield and helped Sam up just as Gil set Jess on her feet.

“He’s barely breathing,” Zeetha reported.

“Don’t you dare, Gil,” Dean barked, pointing first at Gil, then at the bloodstained gash in Jess’ nightgown through which unmarred skin now showed. “One major healing a day is your limit, remember?”

Gil, who looked pale, shook his head. “No, I wasn’t gonna—”

“LET GO OF ME!!!” Jess suddenly shrieked and pushed Gil hard enough that he toppled over onto the bed.

Sam started toward her. “Jess—”

“Stay _away_ from me, you _freak!_ ” she cried and bolted out of the apartment, sobbing loudly, not even grabbing a coat or her purse on the way out.

Sam started to follow, but Dean stopped him. “Let her go, Sam.”

“We need to call an ambulance,” Agatha announced. “I can keep Brady breathing, but there’s more wrong with him than I can fix.”

“On it,” Dean replied, squeezed Sam’s arm, and dug his cell phone out of his pocket.

Before Sam could figure out what to do next, Gil’s arm landed heavily across his shoulders. “’M sorry, Sam,” he murmured as Agatha and Zeetha carried Brady out and Dean dialed 911 and followed.

Sam turned to Gil and blinked. “Sorry?” he asked, putting a steadying arm around his brother-in-law’s waist. “What are you sorry for?”

“Shoulda figured it out sooner.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Not like any of us have ever faced demons before, and he was doing his best to avoid you. And even if you _had_ figured it out, I’m not sure I would have believed you. He’d done a pretty good snow job on me, too. Hell, you should have heard the fight I had with Dean about Brady on our way back today. And now... now I know Dean was right.”

“Well, at least we know why Brady and Zola were keepin’ you away from us.”

“Yeah. Did Zeetha tell you what Dad found out about Zola?”

“Mm. Think so. Well, no, didn’t... exactly tell us, but... y’know, merge.”

Sam sighed again. “C’mon. Sounds like you need food.”

“I’m serious, though,” Gil insisted as Sam steered him out of the bedroom. “I never shoulda let it get this far.”

“Gil, you saved her life, and the four of you probably saved mine, too.”

“Yeah, but you lost her anyway.”

“We don’t know that,” Sam protested, trying to ignore the way his heart squeezed. “She probably just needs some time to freak out over what happened. Maybe... maybe she’ll come back in a few hours.”

“What, and you’re _not_ freaking out? Wasn’t it Brady who introduced you to Jess in the first place? And wasn’t that _after_ he went off the deep end?”

Sam didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to _think_ about it.

“Plus all that info he spilled.”

“Demons _lie_. We have no way of knowing right now whether any of it’s true, and whatever is true is probably twisted somehow.”

“Sam—”

“Just... shut up and eat some cookies.” Sam all but pushed Gil into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Then he turned to get himself a beer—and almost tripped over Ardsley, who had a freshly-opened beer in his hand, held out to Sam.

“Here, old man,” Ardsley said quietly. “I’d offer something stronger, but I doubt that’s a good idea just now.”

“Um. Thanks?” Sam accepted the beer and looked past Ardsley into the living room, where Van was helping Agatha perform CPR on Brady, Zeetha was arranging something that looked like RPG materials on the coffee table, and Dean was standing at the open front door, still talking to EMS on his cell. “What—how—”

Ardsley raised an eyebrow. “We do live directly above you, Sam. Here, sit down.” He pulled out a chair for Sam, who accepted it, and then sat down himself across from Gil. “We’ve a cover story all worked out should we need it. The lot of us, Brady included, had all come over for a game night to help take your mind off your interview. Brady was acting a bit odd, but we thought nothing of it until we took a break because Gil needed a snack.”

“Oh, sure, blame me,” Gil snarked and shoved a cookie into his mouth whole.

Ardsley ignored him. “Brady waited until you were out of the room, then began pestering Jess. She pushed him away and ran off, and then he passed out. That should at least account for any of the screams that might have carried beyond the nearest neighbors.”

Sam blinked. “But... what about the nearest neighbors?”

“We doubt they’re in. Van says most everyone in the building’s gone to the Justin Bieber concert in San Francisco. Peculiar thing, his adding this concert at the last minute... almost like the demon didn’t want anyone about to help or warn you.”

Sam started to take a drink of beer, then paused. “Wait, what about you two?”

Ardsley sighed and shook his head. “Van and I both had the strongest sense all morning that we ought to go out for the evening. But I’d nowhere to go; all of Van’s girlfriends were busy; and we _did_ think it peculiar that everyone else was going out at the same time. Then Gil called this afternoon and told us what you chaps had run into on your way back, so we decided to invite them over for dinner. But when the time came... they couldn’t get in. And we couldn’t get out.”

“Wards,” Gil explained around a mouthful of cookie when Sam frowned at him.

Sam’s eyes widened. “Is _that_ why Dean....”

Gil nodded and swallowed. “Yeah. It took all four of us merging to have enough power to get past—and even then, I’m not sure we would have without Dean.”

“What do you mean? Because he’s human?”

“Because he’s a vessel.” Gil shook his head. “It happened damn fast; I’m still not completely sure what _did_ happen. But whatever that curse is trying to warp in you... I think the same thing, or something similar, was latent in Dean as well, and it was only having the equivalent of a full fae _and_ a Heterodyne in that vessel space that was able to bring it out. Damn powerful, too. He broke the wards with a command even Zeetha’s never heard before.” He looked Sam in the eye. “I don’t think the demon was lying when it called Dean the Michael Sword.”

Sam gulped. “You mean you think....”

“He’s not just an angel vessel. He’s an archangel’s vessel. Michael’s.”

“Th-then if... if that’s in our blood... and the curse is... then it’s... I’m....”

“Lucifer’s.”

Sam felt the blood drain out of his face, and he chugged his beer quickly and stifled a belch.

“ _If_ ,” Ardsley cautioned. “Let’s not despair just yet.”

Gil nodded. “And even if it’s true, like Agatha and I told you four years ago: curses can be broken. We can fight this. And we will, Sam. All of us.”

Tears slipped down Sam’s cheeks. “How the hell did I forget who my real friends are?”

Gil squeezed Sam’s wrist, and Ardsley patted the opposite shoulder. And then the paramedics arrived, and everyone’s focus turned to getting Brady the medical attention he needed. Sam pulled himself together enough to report what—er, what the demon had liked to abuse Brady with but admitted that he didn’t know what exactly might be in Brady’s system at the moment. Zeetha did most of the talking, though, spinning a story so colorful Sam could almost believe it had really happened; and Dean, claiming he’d talked himself hoarse in keeping the dispatcher updated on the CPR progress, joined the other guys in the kitchen for a beer.

Just as the paramedics carted Brady out, however, Sam’s friend Rebecca came to the door, her face grave. “Hi, Sam,” she called.

“Hey!” Sam jumped up from the table and hurried to the door. “Have you seen Jess? Is she all right?” Rebecca and her roommate lived on the far side of the complex, so it wasn’t out of the question for Jess to have run that far.

She nodded. “Yeah, she’s at my place.” She took a deep breath. “She sent me to get your keys.”

“Oh. Uh, her purse is over—”

“No, Sam. Not her keys. _Yours_.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “I... what?”

“Look, I don’t know what happened. She’s really upset, and she’s not making much sense right now. I did get that something happened with Brady, and apparently that much is true.”

“Yeah, but—”

Rebecca held up a hand. “I’m not trying to take sides here, honest. Like I said, I don’t know what happened. All I know is, she’s spending the night with us, but when she comes back tomorrow, she doesn’t want you to be here.”

Sam’s heart shattered—but then Ardsley squeezed his shoulder again and went back to the bedroom with Van, and Zeetha snapped her fingers and picked up his bags, which she’d hidden behind the couch. And after Sam fumbled with his keyring so badly that he almost dropped it, Dean gently took it from him and took the apartment keys off to hand to Rebecca.

At the same time, Agatha came over to Sam and put a hand on his arm. “Come stay with us tonight, cousin.”

Sam could only nod numbly.

Rebecca frowned. “Cousin? I thought....”

“Third cousin by adoption,” Dean explained. “Gil and my wife are twins.”

“Is that everything?” Zeetha asked before the conversation could get any more awkward, and Sam turned to see Van and Ardsley come out of the bedroom with a box. Oh, of course—Sam had roomed with them the summer before he moved in with Jess; they did know which things were his.

Van, who looked exhausted, murmured something in his own language, then caught himself and shook his head. “Sorry. Yes, that is all.”

Gil stood up and joined the rest of the group, looking less pale but still somewhat shaky on his feet. “We’d better head on, then,” he announced, putting one arm across Dean’s shoulders and one across Sam’s. And Sam suspected that was at least as much to give support as to receive it.

“I _am_ sorry, Sam,” Rebecca stated and got out of the way.

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Me, too.”

And then they were off, Agatha and Zeetha in the lead, Sam and Dean not quite carrying Gil between them, and Van and Ardsley bringing up the rear. Sam heard Van and Ardsley exchange a few words in Romanian as they started down the stairs, but after that, the seven of them crossed the parking lot in silence. Nor did anyone say anything as they entered Gil and Agatha’s apartment, deposited Gil in the recliner, and deposited Sam’s stuff in the corner behind Zoing’s tank. Agatha sat down in Gil’s lap; Van sank down on the loveseat.

“I’ll just go and lock up,” Ardsley said at last. “Back in a jif.” And he left, closing the door as quietly as he could.

Feeling adrift, Sam turned to Dean, who raised his eyebrows: _You okay there, Sammy?_

No, Sam wasn’t okay. He wanted to break something, kill something, get blind drunk and curse as long and loud and harshly as he knew how. What he actually did was collapse into his big brother’s arms and bawl his eyes out as if he were two and not twenty-two.

He wasn’t aware he’d fallen asleep until he was roused by the smell of bacon and coffee and the quiet murmur of voices. He was sitting on the floor in front of the couch with his head on someone’s lap, and there were fingers carding gently through his hair, touches of power sending warmth and comfort through his scalp and down his spine.

“What about Zulenna?” he heard Zeetha ask.

She was answered by a huff. “Zulenna is too busy trying to figure out how she can marry Z without causing an international incident,” said... Colette?

“What she _said_ ,” added Sleipnir, “was that she’ll be in meetings at the embassy all day. But we all know what that means.”

It took Sam a moment to wake up enough to process that. Zulenna Luzhakna was crown princess of some tiny principality in the Balkans that had prevented a Soviet takeover due almost entirely to defense hardware her grandparents had purchased from Sanders Brothers, which she figured gave her some sort of life debt to Agatha, and thus she condescended to hang out with the Adventure Club sometimes. “Z” was Zami... something or other—he always insisted people call him Z because nobody except maybe Sleipnir could remember his full name—anyway, Z’s dad was a sheikh from one of the pro-Western kingdoms in the Middle East, and while his people didn’t see any problem with his marrying a Christian, Zulenna’s were having a cow over her potentially marrying a Muslim. Sam had gotten a summary from Van once, and even that condensed version of the drama gave him a headache. He’d probably have one now if it weren’t for... wait, was that _Zeetha_ petting his head?

“And Nick’s gone home,” Sleipnir went on with an air of conclusion. “Got a new job in Prague. So it’s just us.”

Zeetha moved her hand down to shake Sam’s shoulder a little, and he opened his eyes just in time for a coffee mug to appear in the grip of a dark-skinned male hand.

“Morning, Sammich,” said Theo.

Sam took a deep breath and accepted the mug. “Uh. Thanks, Theo.” He took a drink, then looked up as Theo, wearing scrubs, sat down beside Sleipnir on the loveseat. “Did... you just get off?”

“Yeah, I’m on night shift at the ER this period,” Theo confirmed. “Brady’s in ICU, hardcore withdrawal symptoms. Demon really did a number on him.”

“Will he... will he live?”

Theo sighed. “He’s critical. It’s impossible to say for sure right now. He was stable when I left, but keeping him that way... I just don’t know.”

“None of this is your fault, Sam,” Zeetha said firmly. “What happened to Brady, what happened to Jess—none of it.”

“She’s right,” Tarvek said from the far end of the couch, on the other side of Colette. “We had a long talk with Dean when we got here, and I’ll tell you what I told him. I’m no theologian—that’s Papa Jim’s field—but I do know a few things about conspiracies and organized crime. No matter what is or isn’t true of the things the demon said last night, it’s obvious that this whole thing was set up long before either of you were born. If you’d never met Brady _or_ Jess, Hell would have used somebody else, even one of us, to get to you.”

Sam sighed. “Is there any way we can stop it?”

“Maybe. There’s a ton that we don’t know. But we’ll all be in better shape to think it over after we’ve had some breakfast.”

“Which is served,” Ardsley announced, bringing a tray of food out of the kitchen to set on the coffee table—biscuits, bacon, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, flour tortillas, cheese, salsa, and various condiments. Van followed with the Wulfenbachs’ good coffee service, and Dean, wearing an apron (!), came last with a stack of plates and kicked the back of the recliner as he passed.

Gil, who had apparently leaned back and fallen asleep with Agatha still pinning him, startled awake. “Whu? What time’s it?”

“Time for _breakfast_ , genius,” Dean retorted.

“It’s 7:30, dear,” Agatha stated, kissed Gil’s cheek, and got up. “And you’ve slept all night, so you’ll feel better once you get some coffee in you.”

Van poured the coffee and handed it to Agatha while Gil, wild-haired and wild-eyed with grogginess, sat up and flipped the lever to lower the recliner’s footrest. Agatha handed him his coffee, and he grunted his thanks and drank. Dean took off his apron and tossed it on the dining table, which seemed to break the ice for everyone else, and soon the whole group was eating breakfast burritos and biscuits and keeping up a steady stream of subdued but pleasant chatter.

Sam ate all he could hold, and it helped, but he still stepped outside shortly after 8 to call the law school and cancel his interview. After everything that had happened the night before, and especially the surmise about his being Lucifer’s vessel... he just couldn’t face the prospect of having to smile and sound hopeful. Granted, Jess was alive, but his heart was almost as broken as if she had died.

A moment after he hung up, Dean came out with a quiet “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam turned to him with as much of a smile as he could muster. “Thanks for breakfast.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched upward in response. Then he nodded at the phone. “What’s up?”

“I, uh. Just canceled my interview.”

Dean blinked. “Canceled. Like, totally.”

Sam nodded.

Dean looked at him a moment, then sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”

Sam huffed. “Dean, what are you sorry for? You were _right_.”

“I wish I hadn’t been.”

Sam took a deep breath and let it out again. “Yeah. Me, too. But... thanks. For trying. And I’m... I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

Dean half-smiled again— _Apology accepted_ —and clapped Sam on the shoulder. “C’mon. Gonna try a conference call, see if we can’t get at least Bobby an’ Ash on the line, see what we can figure out.”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

Dean reached up to give the back of Sam’s neck a reassuring squeeze, and the brothers went back inside just as Gil, looking considerably more awake and alert, brought the speakerphone out of the bedroom he and Agatha had turned into their shared office. Colette and Sleipnir cleared the coffee table quickly and put the leftovers in the fridge while Gil got the phone set up. And then everyone settled around the coffee table again: the DuMedds back on the loveseat; all three Winchesters on the couch; Colette in the recliner; Tarvek, Van, Ardsley, and Gil on the floor; and Agatha in a rolling chair she brought out of the office for herself.

Dean was just looking up the best number for Bobby when the door of the hall closet rattled, catching everyone’s attention. It rattled again—and then, with a flash of light, it burst open and a tall, thin, dark-haired man in a light blue suit tumbled out of it. As everyone reached for weapons, the man rolled to his feet, turned to the group, and asked the last question Sam would ever have expected to hear:

“Which of you is John Winchester?”


	5. Chapter 4: As Time Goes By

When no one answered, the stranger took several steps toward the living room. “Please, time is of the essence. Which of you is John?”

“Uh, none of us,” Theo answered.

“John disappeared four days ago,” Gil added. “As far as we know, he’s still alive, but....”

The stranger put a hand to his head and looked away, distraught. “No, that’s... that’s not possible. I should have gone straight to him. But... perhaps you can help me anyway. You are Men of Letters, correct?”

Ardsley and Colette looked at each other in alarm, which Dean noted, but everyone else exchanged confused glances.

“In what sense?” Tarvek asked.

“Of— _the_ Men of Letters. I mean... some of you may be young initiates, but some of you are legacies, right?”

After another exchange of confused looks, Theo answered warily, “This is the Stanford Adventure Club. Alumni chapter,” he added almost as an afterthought, as if there were any undergrads left who came to things on a regular basis aside from Sam. Well, and Van, technically, since he kept finding ways to delay his graduation by extending his coterminal degree plan.

The stranger frowned. “Stanford? We’ve never had a chapter in Palo Alto before.” He paused. “We _are_ in Palo Alto, aren’t we?”

Dean cleared his throat. “Y’know, you’re askin’ a hell of a lot of questions for someone who just fell out of the hall closet. How ’bout you start answerin’ a few?”

Before the stranger could respond, however, Agatha, who was staring at his chest, suddenly gasped. “That _star!_ ”

The stranger startled and put a hand on his narrow tie, just below the tie tack, which Dean could now see bore the same six-pointed star that was on the hex bag Agatha had inherited from her father. “Sorry?”

Agatha looked up at the stranger’s face. “You’re Cousin Millie’s husband. You’re _Henry!_ ”

The stranger looked even more startled. “What?!”

Agatha shook her head. “Sorry. Your wife had a cousin in Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania? Married name was Wright? Had a daughter named Judy?”

“Uh, that’s correct.”

“Judy is my adoptive mother. I was orphaned.”

“But... aren’t you Cuthbert’s daughter?”

Agatha blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Cuthbert Sinclair. Isn’t he your father?”

“Grandfather,” Tarvek corrected before Agatha could say anything else.

Agatha turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

The stranger—Henry? Henry _Winchester?_ —shook his head. “Be that as it may, I—” But he broke off when Agatha spun back around to stare at the closet door in alarm and Gil and Zeetha also went on the alert. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s coming,” the twins chorused.

Dean had sensed something, too, but not clearly enough to put his finger on it. He had his hand on his gun, but he prepared to raise a shield over the whole group just in case this _she_ was something he couldn’t shoot.

Henry paled. “What?”

“She’s coming,” Agatha echoed. “She’s coming—hurry, Henry, lock the door!”

Henry turned, stretched his right hand out toward the rattling closet door, and said... something that sounded a little like whatever command Dean had used the night before to break the wards on Sam’s apartment building. A female scream shook the walls of the apartment for a second before being cut off as suddenly as a door slamming. And then... nothing.

Zeetha was first to relax. “That’s it. She’s trapped between dimensions. Short of killing her, that’s the best way to eliminate the threat.”

Henry was shaking as he lowered his hand. “I... I....” Then he bolted down the hall to the guest bathroom and threw up.

As Ardsley got up and went after him, Sam turned to Dean with raised eyebrows, his expression a combination of _What the hell?!_ , _Can you believe this?_ , and _Are we buying this?_

Dean shrugged his eyebrows, answering all three questions at once: _Hell if I know_. All he knew for sure about Henry was that Dad hated him for having disappeared in ’58—but Dad wasn’t exactly high on the list of Dean’s favorite people right now. If Dad had had any notion that something was about to come after Sam and Jess, which his message implied that he had, he should have been _there_ in Palo Alto to help the brothers deal with it, not sending them on a wild goose chase down to Jericho and over to Colorado and wherever the hell next to... what, throw the demon off their trail? Without the Adventure Club’s standard-issue hex bags, which the Winchesters all needed to start carrying now, that wouldn’t have done much good.

Speaking of which, Dean turned to Tarvek and signed, _We need h-e-x...._

Tarvek flashed him a thumbs-up, then nodded toward the hall, where Ardsley’s voice murmured something reassuring just before the toilet flushed and the water ran in the sink briefly. A moment later, Ardsley came back supporting Henry, who was wiping his face with a damp washrag.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” Ardsley was asking quietly.

Henry nodded. “I’ll be all right, thanks. It’s just... the adventures I prefer are usually of a literary nature.”

Ardsley chuckled. “I hear you.”

“Now, Wooster... are you Bertram’s....”

“Great-grandson. Not that we inherited much from him.”

“Great-gra—... what....”

“It’s November 3, 2005. And... I regret to inform you... the American Men of Letters are no more.”

What little color was left in Henry’s face fled. “No... no, that... that can’t be! Surely _someone_ survived!”

Ardsley shook his head. “If anyone did, he’s hidden himself well. We lost all contact after Abaddon’s attack.”

Henry sank into the chair Van brought him from the kitchen table. “But... but the British Men of Letters survive?”

Ardsley hesitated, then sighed. “They do.”

“Then if we can’t find any survivors... perhaps I can contact _them_ for help.”

Ardsley shook his head. “No. I advise you most strongly not to do that.”

Henry blinked. “Why not?”

“Let’s introduce everyone first. There’ll be time enough for explanations later.”

Van brought over two more chairs, and he and Ardsley sat down in them.

Henry sighed. “I suppose I should start, then. My name, as you seem to have guessed, is Henry Winchester. John is my son. And since apparently none of you others have heard of the Men of Letters: we’re preceptors, beholders, chroniclers of all that man does not understand. Occasionally we intervene in matters of extreme supernatural danger, but for the most part, we leave that work to hunters.”

Dean frowned at the disdainful way Henry said _hunters_ , but Zeetha sent him a mental nudge, warning him not to say anything yet.

“In August of 1958,” Henry continued, “I was... attending a meeting of the Men of Letters in Normal, Illinois; it was to be my final initiation. We were attacked by the demon Abaddon. The elders tried to exorcise her, but it... it didn’t work. She killed most of them. One who survived shoved something into my hand, told me to keep it safe. But I knew I’d never make it out of the building, so I... I went to a lab and used a spell to... well, to come here, I suppose. Apparently she tried to follow me; that’s what happened just now. But I still don’t understand what went wrong. The spell is supposed to lead directly to blood kin.”

Sam cleared his throat. “That would be us.”

Henry blinked. “Sorry?”

“I’m Sam. This is my brother Dean. We’re John’s sons.”

“Oh. It’s... nice to meet you. And this?” Henry asked, looking at Zeetha.

“My wife, Zeetha,” Dean stated, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey,” said Zeetha.

“Travis Murphy,” Tarvek continued. “My wife, Colette.”

“ _Bonjour_ ,” said Colette.

“Theo DuMedd,” said Theo. “My wife, Sleipnir.”

Sleipnir just nodded and smiled.

“Vanamonde von Mekkhan,” Van admitted quietly.

“Gilgamesh Wulfenbach,” Gil chimed in before Henry could ask Van where he was from. “My wife, Agatha.”

Zoing tapped on the wall of his tank.

“And that’s Zoing,” Gil concluded with a smile as Henry turned and Zoing waved both claws at him. “He says hello.”

Henry waved hesitantly to Zoing, then turned to Agatha. “Forgive me, Agatha. Who were your parents? Your... birth parents, I mean.”

“My father was Bill Sanders,” Agatha replied, “but he was adopted, too. His birth name was Heterodyne. And my mother,” she went on, ignoring Henry’s gasp, “was Lucrezia Mongfish.”

Henry frowned. “Mongfish. Not Sinclair?”

“No—at least, not to my knowledge.”

“You’re on, Trav,” Gil said, using Tarvek’s cover nickname. Apparently he was as hesitant to let Henry in on all the Adventure Club’s secrets as Dean was.

Tarvek sighed. “I’m sorry, Agatha. I never wanted to tell you this.”

“It might be important,” Agatha noted. “What did she tell your father?”

Henry blinked. “Father? Who’s—”

“I’m adopted, too,” Tarvek admitted. “My father was Aaron Sturmvoraus.”

“Sturmvoraus. Detroit.”

Tarvek nodded. “He and Lucrezia were lovers. John and Gil’s dad got me out, though.”

“Oh. Well, that’s... that’s good.”

“What’s the story?” Agatha prompted again.

“The story goes,” Tarvek began slowly, “that there was a man named Cuthbert Sinclair who was... a member of some secret society.” He looked at Henry for confirmation.

“Was, yes,” Henry stated. “He used to be our Master of Spells. But he was expelled in ’55, and I never found out why.”

“Before World War II,” Tarvek went on, “Mr. Sinclair used to visit Mechanicsburg frequently, supposedly doing some sort of research. He almost always stayed with Lucifer Mongfish and his wife; they were close friends.”

Agatha frowned. “But... the Mongfishes were _witches_.”

“What?!” Henry gasped.

Tarvek ignored them both. “In 1942, Mr. Sinclair made another trip to Mechanicsburg just before he was deployed to Europe on... some sort of secret business. There were all sorts of rumors, and Lucrezia never told my father what the truth might have been.”

“And I don’t know how much is declassified,” Henry admitted. “He told me he’d been on loan to the OSS.”

“ _Anyway_ , Mr. Mongfish happened to be out of town that week. Mr. Sinclair still stayed at the Mongfish house for several days, long enough to make people talk. He left the same day Mr. Mongfish came home.” Tarvek looked down at the floor. “And a few months after that, it was obvious that Mrs. Mongfish was pregnant. With triplets. They were born early, which is normal with multiples, but it still started a lot of rumors, even though Mr. Mongfish claimed the girls as his own. And then, when Mr. Sinclair came back after the war... he started spending a lot of time with the girls.”

Agatha leaned forward. “Triplets, you said.”

Tarvek nodded. “Lucrezia, Demonica, and Serpentina.”

Theo started. “ _Serpentina?!_ ”

Tarvek grimaced. “That’s Lucifer Mongfish for you.”

“That mean somethin’ to you, Theo?” Dean asked.

Theo nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I’d almost forgotten. I... well, I don’t really know all the details. I was born in Bangalore, but for some reason my parents didn’t have me christened until they came back to the States on furlough. I must have been... I dunno, three, four. Old enough to remember, anyway. We were visiting Dad’s parents in Cincinnati, and it just happened to be a day when the bishop was available to do the christening. I don’t remember much about _that_ , but afterward, at the reception... this woman showed up. Now that I think about it... she did look an _awful_ lot like Agatha. I guess it must have been Lucrezia. And she kept calling Mom ‘Serpentina,’ which I thought was so weird, because I’d only ever heard her name as Jill. Mom was really mad about it, and I don’t know if... if Lucrezia was drunk or what, but when the bishop tried to get her to leave, she knocked him into the punch bowl. Dad finally had to call the cops.”

“That sounds like my family,” Agatha said grimly.

Theo shifted to look at her more directly. “Agatha, don’t you see what this means? We’re _cousins!_ ”

Agatha blinked and sat back. “I—gee! No wonder we’re friends!”

Sleipnir laughed. “Good job you were second-best man at her wedding, eh, _mo chroí_?”

Theo snorted, and Sleipnir ruffled his hair.

But Gil’s eyes were narrowed. “So if Lucrezia’s real father was this Master of Spells, and she was spending considerable amounts of time with him....”

Tarvek nodded. “Every summer, she’d go stay with him for at least a month. At least, that’s what she told my father. Demonica would visit him, too, but not as frequently or as long at a time.”

“ _That_ explains how she knew about Bill Sanders, how she knew the curse she used to try to possess Agatha....”

“WHAT?!” Henry exploded.

“I’m fine,” Agatha said quickly. “It was a long time ago.”

“Yeah,” Dean chimed in, “but the real threat now is Demonica. Or at least Demonica’s daughter.”

Now it was Tarvek’s turn to look startled. “What? Who’s—”

“Zola,” Sam answered.

Tarvek shook his head. “You’ve mentioned her, but....”

“Zola Malfeazium; she was... well, _pretended_ to be friends with Jess. When we went through the research Dad left in his motel room, I found her birth certificate. It was with a bunch of other stuff about witches.”

“Don’t forget the tracking coin she had in your apartment,” Zeetha added.

Sam blushed. “I didn’t know what it was, okay? But that reminds me, I don’t think I ever said thanks for destroying it.”

“I just wish we’d found it a lot sooner.”

“Still might not have changed anything.”

At Henry’s confused frown, Dean explained, “Demon tried to kill Sam’s girlfriend last night. Copycat for the way another demon killed our mom. We think Zola might have been in on it.” That was really the most he could say; he’d been fighting flashbacks to Mom’s death all night, and another was threatening now.

Theo frowned. “What does Zola look like?”

“Platinum blonde,” Sam replied. “About Agatha’s height, but a broader face, heavier but not really fat. Blue eyes, fair skin.”

“I think somebody saw her in Brady’s ICU room last night. Said she was his girlfriend.”

Both Winchester brothers swore.

Tarvek looked disturbed. “If she’s got a thing for thrall spells, like Lucrezia had....”

“She may be planning to use Brady for her own ends,” Gil agreed. “Or at least keeping him on a short leash for the demon to return to. It said something about having tried to kill us with measles and mono, and it changed Brady’s major from pre-med to Bioengineering and got that internship at Niveus Pharmaceutical. That suggests it’s up to something more than just trying to force Sam back into hunting.”

Henry’s eyes went saucer-wide, but Sleipnir frowned and said, “Okay, we’ve not heard _this_ part o’ the story yet.”

Sam sighed. “Twenty-two years ago yesterday, a demon named Azazel killed our mother over my crib. She was pinned to the ceiling, sliced open, and burned. Dad became a hunter to try to avenge her. Last night, the demon possessing Brady tried to do the same thing to Jess. And it would have worked if it hadn’t been for Dean, Zeetha, Gil, and Agatha.”

Henry shook his head, an incredulous smile growing. “No, no, that... that can’t _be!_ John can’t have... he-he should have been raised in the ways of the Letters, unless....” The smile faded. “Unless I... don’t make it back from this time.”

Sam cleared his throat. “We don’t know. All we know is that Dad never saw you again.”

Henry groaned and buried his face in his hands. “And I may be too late to save him now.”

“We don’t know that, either,” Dean noted.

Henry took a deep breath, dropped his hands, and looked at Sam. “You said something about the Wulfenbachs and Dean and Zeetha?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, they protected me and cornered the demon so I could exorcise it. Zeetha put the fire out, and Gil healed Jess.”

“Now, Agatha... is a Heterodyne. The... _great_ -granddaughter of the goddess Dynamis.”

Agatha nodded. “I came into my powers when I was eighteen. But Gil and Zeetha have powers, too. They’re twins, and they’re half-fae.”

“On our mother’s side,” Gil clarified. “Dad met her during the Vietnam War. He’s from Mechanicsburg; that’s how he knew Agatha’s birth parents and her adoptive parents. And he served in the Marines with John and with Tarvek’s adoptive dad.”

Henry paused to process that. “Sounds like history I’ll need to catch up on later. Who’s your mother?”

“The name she gives to mortals is Zantabraxus,” Zeetha answered.

Henry stared. “The _Warrior Queen of Indochina?!_ ”

“Not anymore.”

Henry’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean, not anymore?”

Dean rubbed Zeetha’s shoulder supportively as she explained, “The Communists have hunted our people almost to extinction. Mom was living among the Hmong when she rescued Dad and married him, but the Vietcong dropped poison on the mountains where they were living. They escaped to China, but after Gil and I were born, even China wasn’t safe anymore. Mom sent Dad and Gil back to the States, and she took me and traveled among the various South Asian courts outside the Bamboo Curtain. Aside from Thailand, Malaysia, and Indonesia, almost none of her former lands are still open to her. And even in those lands, she’s not as welcome as she used to be.”

“So... so why are you _here?_ ”

“Gil finally got word to us that he was okay in... ’98, was it?” When Gil nodded, Zeetha continued, “But he started wearing a hex bag almost immediately after, so Mom couldn’t even scry for him anymore. But then he married Agatha in ’01, and that... kinda send out some shockwaves.”

Gil and Agatha both blushed.

“Mom had been watching for signs Gil was coming into his powers, even when she couldn’t find _him_ , but she felt pretty sure Dad wouldn’t have any idea what was going on. She thought Gil must be in California ’cause his message came through the Pacific and reached us on Java, so she gave me Dad’s dog tags and sent me to LA. I couldn’t find him there, so I started walking east. Just my luck I ran into Dean first,” she added, grinning at Dean and squeezing his hand.

Dean grinned back and kissed her cheek.

Before anyone could say anything else, Colette piped up, “Ardsley? _Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas?_ ”*

Sure enough, Ardsley had both hands jammed into his hair, was looking at the floor, and was on the verge of hyperventilating. The fact that everyone turned to look at him didn’t help.

“Ardsley?” Gil prompted.

“He’ll kill me,” Ardsley whimpered, not looking up. “He’ll _kill_ me.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

“What? Why? I told you—”

“That you were half-fae, yes, but not... not the rest of it.”

“Why the hell should it even matter?”

Ardsley finally dropped his hands and raised his head, looking at Gil with tortured eyes. “The Old Men are _mad_. When the American Men of Letters fell, they began sealing the whole of Britain to all things supernatural. They expelled _Oberon and Titania_ ; do you understand?”

Henry gasped. “You mean they _killed_ —”

“No, no, they’re... somewhere in the Orkneys, I think. That’s not the point. If my father finds out that Gil’s mother is Zantabraxus....”

“What,” Gil interrupted, “he’ll kill you just for being friends with me?”

“No, for putting myself in your power. Gil, _think_ —how many times have we exchanged gifts? How many favors have you done me?”

“I don’t want that kind of power over _anyone!_ Ask Van!”

Henry, Theo, and Sleipnir all looked at Van in surprise, but neither Gil nor Ardsley noticed.

“My father won’t accept that,” Ardsley insisted. “Believe me, I’ve _tried_ to explain.”

“How the hell did he even find out about Gil?” Dean asked.

“Because I wouldn’t go home for the hols,” Ardsley said miserably. “After Gil told us about... what happened that Spring Break, I was afraid Father would force the truth out of me, and if he didn’t shoot me on the spot, the Old Men would give the order as soon as they knew. I didn’t think I could trust anyone outside the Adventure Club, not even Colette’s father.”

“Simon Voltaire,” Colette explained when Henry looked at her. “He is director general of the _Renseignements Généraux_ and has worked with M. Wooster in his capacity as an officer of MI6, but M. Wooster is also the liaison of the Men of Letters to the governments of Europe. Papa has had to call on him for assistance with supernatural cases because most hunters in France refuse to work with an agent of the government.”

“I see,” was Henry’s only response.

“So I accepted every invitation I received to stay in the US between quarters,” Ardsley went on. “I took extra classes, used any and every excuse I could find. But last summer... my father finally called. I’d barely said hello when he placed me under a truth spell.” He took a deep breath. “I held back as much as I could, especially about Agatha, but I had to let on that Gil’s half-fae. That satisfied him—not that he was pleased. He lifted the spell but then ordered me to stay here and spy on Gil, report anything out of the way, and if... if it looked like Gil might be at all dangerous....”

“He told you to kill me?!” Gil cried.

Ardsley’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “Even if I didn’t see any danger, he said, the last phase of my initiation would likely require me to kill you anyway.” He turned to Henry then. “You see why you mustn’t contact the Old Men? If they’d order _me_ killed just for being _friends_ with Gil if they learn who his mother is, what will they do to Dean for having _married_ Zeetha?! Let alone—” He caught himself and stopped.

“Let alone what?” Henry pressed.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look as Zeetha squeezed Dean’s hand, and Dean sighed. “Guess you might as well know,” he said quietly. “We’re archangel vessels.”

Henry looked ready to pass out. “Do... do you know which archangels?”

Dean took a deep breath. “From what the demon said last night, I’m Michael’s. But the night Azazel killed Mom, he apparently put some kind of curse on Sam, and we think the goal might have been to turn him into Lucifer’s.”

“Dear Lord.” Henry ran a shaking hand over his mouth. “That explains so much—why the elders tried so hard to get Eddie out of his enlistment, why Abaddon attacked us when she did... if... I-I was planning to start training John... holy _cats_. I _can’t_ go back.”

“Maybe not,” Agatha said, “but you can help us here and now. Starting with Van.”

Henry turned to Van. “So you _are_ from Mekkhan.”

Van nodded glumly. “I came here only to study, I swear. But before I left, I—” He choked visibly, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. Gil, would you....”

Gil nodded. “Dynamis has apparently written off Saturn’s side of the family. We think Lucrezia killed Teodora to gain her favor; we obviously don’t know whether that worked. But that happened after Dynamis had already given birth to a new heir, fathered by Agatha’s....” He looked questioningly at Van.

“Great-uncle,” Van supplied.

“A little more than kin and less than kind,” Ardsley muttered.

Van sighed. “Literally.”

“Anyway,” Gil continued, “Van’s dad is the Heterodynes’ seneschal. Neptune Heterodyne allowed Van to come here to go to college and gain new ideas, but the price was that he put Van under a blood oath, compelling him to come back when he’s done with school and share everything that he’s learned. Unfortunately, that means he’ll probably have to spill the beans about Agatha and me.”

“Which I _don’t_ want to do,” Van insisted. “And not just because I know Gil would kill me if I did.”

“Gil!” Sleipnir exclaimed.

Gil looked sheepish. “I panicked, all right?”

“With good cause,” Van added with a wry smile, then shook his head. “But it isn’t just that, truly. The more I learn about America, and especially now that I know Agatha... sorry, Gil, I don’t know of a better way to say this.” When Gil gave him a _Go ahead_ gesture, he continued, “I’d rather stay here to serve Agatha and _her_ God than return to serve a tyrant. But as long as I’m bound by this oath, I... I can’t even say the name of Ch—” He choked again and coughed.

“We’ve been trying to find a way to free him,” Agatha told Henry. “But so far, every resource we’ve tried has come up empty.”

Henry took a deep breath. “Yes, I... I think I know a spell that might help. It might not break the bonds entirely,” he told Van, “but it should at least let you speak more freely.”

Van nodded. “Please.”

Henry said something in whatever language he’d used to block Abaddon’s attempt to follow him through the closet portal, and dark bands suddenly became visible across Van’s head, throat, and chest, along with dark chains shackled to his wrists and ankles. Theo and Sleipnir gasped.

Van’s eyes went unfocused, and with a great effort, he ground out, “ _Omnis... immundus... spiritus... abjuro._ ”

The band around his throat snapped.

“ _Omnis immundus spiritus_ ,” he gasped, “ _omnis potestas Satanas, abjuro!_ ”

The band around his head snapped, and Zeetha gripped Dean’s hand hard.

Van panted harshly a couple of times. “ _Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis potestas Satanas, in nomini Jesu Christi, ABJURO!_ ”**

The band around his chest snapped, and he fell forward out of his chair to his knees.

“ _Domini est salus_ ,” he continued quickly. “ _Domini est salus. Christi est salus. Salus tua, Domine, sit semper nobiscum._ ”*** The chains of darkness shattered and vanished, and he fell face down on the carpet, sobbing and babbling in his own language.

“VAN!” Agatha cried and hurried over to him, and Gil started praying under his breath.

After a moment, Van sat up again, still breathing hard and tears still streaming down his face, but eyes shining with joy and smiling way more broadly than Dean had ever seen him smile before. “That’s it,” he wheezed. “That’s _it_. I’m FREE!”

Laughing, Agatha hugged him, and Theo pounded his back.

“At least you can graduate now,” Gil teased.

Van laughed, but then his smile faded. “Yes, but I’m still in terrible danger. Even with a hex bag, I can’t stay here. Master Neptune knows where I am.”

“ _Eh bien_ ,” said Colette, “I’m sure my father—”

“No. Thank you, but I... I can’t risk anyone finding me in Paris.”

Sleipnir frowned. “Can’t you go back to Romania at all?”

“Dynamis is no mere local goddess,” Henry stated. “The Gnostics regarded her as one of the greatest of the archons, sister of Sophia. I don’t know how or why she would have chosen to settle in Mekkhan, but she’s extremely powerful for one of the pagans.”

“It’s... rather more complicated than that,” Van said. “Dynamis is only one of the names she has taken. But even the fact that her cult is still alive and that she’s still receiving blood sacrifices makes her much stronger than any of the Greek gods. Even without that, though... no, I... I can’t go back to Romania. Not as a Christian.”

“I thought Romania was a Christian country,” Sleipnir said.

Van sighed. “The Communists did a great deal of damage to the idea of faith in my country. The Orthodox are tolerated because of tradition and because they don’t talk about such things as holiness. But I have seen the Repenters stoned in Cluj. They’re no better than gypsies.”

Sam squirmed. “You really shouldn’t call them....”

“Even the Romani,” Gil interrupted firmly, “are made in the image of God.”

Van grimaced but didn’t reply.

After a long awkward pause, Theo sighed. “Okay, let’s figure out our collective to-do list. Clearly, Van’s not the only one who’s in danger here. Everyone who doesn’t already have a hex bag needs to get one, pronto.”

“Right,” Tarvek agreed. “We can take care of that by this afternoon. Until we do, all the Winchesters ought to stay in this apartment; we know Agatha’s hex bag, at least, is strong enough to hide all of you.”

Theo nodded. “Henry needs to figure out what he has and what to do with it.”

Henry pulled a strangely carved brass box, about the size of a pack of cards, out of his pocket. “Do you happen to know what this is, Ardsley?”

Ardsley nodded. “It’s a puzzle box. It holds the key to one of the repositories of knowledge the Men of Letters had in this country, and the box itself would be placed in a slot on the mainframe computer to alert the system that the place was occupied. But we shouldn’t use it for that purpose; so far as I know, the computer network here still connects to the one in England. The key itself should be safe enough, though.”

“Do you know where the repository is?”

“Afraid not, old man. Sorry.”

“Okay,” said Gil, “so we still need to find out that much, and then when we’ve found the place, we need to disconnect the computers from the network. I’m thinking that’s a job for you and Colette, since she’s our IT guru.”

“ _Oui, certainment_ ,” said Colette.

Theo turned to Dean next. “Do you guys have any lead on your dad?”

Dean shook his head. “No, all we’ve got are coordinates in his journal for what looks like a hunt in Colorado.”

“We can take that,” said Tarvek. “We’ve both got vacation time coming; we can give our two weeks’ notice and leave right away. If we happen to find John, so much the better. But it sounds like he’s trying to keep you guys off his trail, so there’s no guarantee he’ll be there when we arrive. Plus, Sam, at least, needs to disappear sooner than later, and there’s not much better for that than going on the one errand Hell can’t know about.”

“You mean we should take Henry back to Illinois,” said Sam.

“Exactly.”

“We should call Bobby or Ash first,” Zeetha noted. “They may be able to get us closer to finding any survivors and whether they’ve moved somewhere else. It’s, what, three days from here to Normal?”

“At best,” Dean confirmed. “Maybe less if we switch off drivers and go straight through, but there’s no telling what the roads are like right now. What about Klaus, though?”

Gil shook his head. “Last time I talked to Dad, he was somewhere in Florida.”

“And Papa Jim’s in Quebec for a church conference,” Tarvek reported. “And Violetta’s got classes, so she can’t go down for you.”

“Speaking of which,” said Sam, “I’d better email my professors, see if I can at least take an Incomplete.”

Dean nodded his approval. Sam might have given up on law school, but that didn’t mean he had to give up on finishing his degree, not this close to the end of the term.

Gil drummed his fingers on the coffee table. “All right, how’s this? Murphys take this hunt in Colorado, while Winchesters find the repository. Agatha, Ardsley, and I can wind up our affairs here, and Van can start applying for religious asylum. Theo’s got his rotation at the hospital; he’s the only one of us who can’t just pick up and leave.”

“We can try to keep tabs on Zola, though,” Sleipnir suggested. “And we can keep an eye on Jess while we’re at it.”

Sam nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

Gil looked at Dean. “As soon as you guys find out where the repository is, call us. We’ll fly out with Van and Ardsley and meet you in Beetleburg. Dad’s supposed to be coming for Thanksgiving; we can brief him then.”

“And Bobby, if we don’t call him sooner,” Zeetha suggested.

“I’ll see if Papa Jim will bring Violetta down, too,” Tarvek offered, which Gil accepted with a nod.

“What makes you think your dad’s gonna want in on this?” Dean asked. “Thought he was hung up on tryin’ to find Barry Sanders.”

“Yes,” Agatha replied, “but when Uncle Barry disappeared, he was investigating what my mother and her coven had been planning to do with me. Mom said he told her and Dad he thought it was end-of-the-world big. But if that trail led him to Cuthbert Sinclair....”

Henry hissed.

Dean looked at him sharply. “What, you got a lead?”

“I don’t—well, I might. Cuthbert was my mentor; we kept in touch after his expulsion. I’m starting to think that might have been a bad idea.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“In any case... of course, I don’t even know if he’s still alive, but I know where he was living last, and he may be there still. His mansion is hidden by heavy spellwork and can’t be seen from the outside at all, and the only way to enter is either with one specific spell uttered from outside, powered by very arcane ingredients, or by Cuthbert’s own permission. There’s no door leading out from inside, either; Cuthbert has to let people out himself. Chances are, if Agatha’s uncle somehow found his way in, he never found his way out.”

“I’d say that goes on the to-do list for after Thanksgiving,” said Theo.

“Yeah,” Gil agreed. “When are you done, Theo?”

“December 16. We can plan to meet you in Beetleburg for Christmas unless we hear otherwise or unless something comes up on our end.”

“And if we get other hunts?” Sam asked.

“Refer them on,” Zeetha recommended. “Unless it’s something we have to take care of personally.”

Tarvek nodded. “Either we or Theo and Sleipnir should be able to handle it.”

“And sooner or later,” Colette chimed in, “we’ll have to deal with the Heterodynes and the British Men of Letters as well.”

“Maybe so,” said Sleipnir. “But for now, I think stopping whatever Hell’s planning for Sam should take precedence.”

“I second that,” said Sam.

“All in favor?” Gil asked.

“Aye!” answered the whole Adventure Club, including Henry, and Dean almost thought he heard an affirmative peep out of Zoing, too.

* * *

* What’s wrong?  
** Every impure spirit, every power of Satan, in the name of Jesus Christ, I abjure you.  
*** Salvation is of the Lord. Salvation is of the Lord. Salvation is of Christ. May Your salvation, Lord, be ever with us. (These are the last words of the Breastplate of St. Patrick.) 


End file.
